


In the Hands of a Thief

by MaryDragon



Series: Noble Thief [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ensemble Cast, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, NO SERIOUSLY SPOILERS, Spoilers, f-bombs galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 78,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3290915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryDragon/pseuds/MaryDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Inquisition: Follows directly after Of Fear and Lyrium and will extensively reference that work.<br/>Evelyn Trevelyan Rutherford, Thief, Inquisitor, and reluctant Herald of Andraste gets caught up in the quest to cure the darkspawn taint from the Wardens; or, at least, the King and Queen of Ferelden.</p><p>Includes major spoilers from pretty much all the Dragon Age media, particularly DA:I, The Calling, and The Silent Grove/Those Who Speak/Until we Sleep.<br/>This is my opportunity to lay down my theory about Fiona, lyrium, the anchor, the taint, and what exactly the HOF has been up to. I am definitely open to arguments about my theories.</p><p>Major differences between this and Part 1: less POV shifts, less focus on romance, and more of a narrative structure: fewer time jumps, more focus on story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Idle Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> There is no way I'm going to be able to get these Chapters to be similar lengths, sorry. Some will be snippets, like this first, and some will be huge. I'll try to make note of relative size on the particularly long ones.

It had started as an idle fantasy.

She had joked to Cullen, the night after Corypheus died, that she should write to the King of Fereldan and brag a little, since when she saved the world she didn’t have to immediately pick up the reins of a country. It was only mostly true; the Inquisition was like a little nation unto itself, and it suddenly didn’t have a focus. Evelyn was thrown into her work like she never had been before, in talks with the new Divine about how to bring what was left of the rebel mages and Templars back into the fold. The Circles and Chantrys were in disarray, their infrastructure significantly damaged in the fighting. Cassandra – _Divine Victoria_ , Evelyn had to remind herself – was leaning on the Inquisition to help rebuild. Leliana spent her time between Skyhold and Val Royeaux, refusing to become formally realigned with the Chantry, but personally vetting the new Divine’s information network.

Surprisingly, it was Josephine staying with the Inquisition that made the biggest difference for Evelyn. The Antivan helped navigate the seemingly endless pitfalls they faced in finding their place in the new world. It was Josie’s decision that the Chantry and the Inquisition should independently announce support of each other, and encouraged Evelyn to travel to Val Royeaux for Cassandra’s – _Victoria’s_ – ascension. The friendship between Inquisitor and Divine became the foundation for the new Chantry, and Josephine was the builder.

Evelyn still frequently found herself in the saddle, a blissful respite from the jungle of politics and paperwork that had become her life. She traveled now with a contingent of Inquisition soldiers – usually led by either the newly promoted Captain Killeen or Knight-Captain Aillis – and the irreplaceable Dorian. She was acutely aware of the hole left by Cassandra’s absence, the many months of fighting side by side quickly fading into one of her favorite memories.

Instead of riding in search of rifts or ways to interfere with Corypheus’ plans, Evelyn rode to meetings with disenfranchised mages, hold out groups of Templars, and embattled nobility. The massive loss of life at the Conclave was finally being dealt with, and contested successions and land disputes were popping up in all corners of southern Thedas. Evelyn tried to encourage the nobility to mediate on their own, but many of Josie’s _favors_ from the early days of the Inquisition were being called in now, and Evelyn found herself in her new ceremonial armor in meeting rooms all over the countryside.

The mages and Templars were easier to deal with. Come back to the Circle or not, join the Inquisition or not, join the Wardens or not. She would help them understand their options and provide safe passage to wherever they opted to go.

The Inquisition was largely filling the void left by the Templar Order – fitting since most of the remaining Templars were now Inquisition forces. Evelyn led many of those teams, as well – investigating reports of blood magic and demon possessions and dealing with what they found. Apostasy was a very grey area in the first years after the Circles dissolved, and it would be a long time before a comfortable compromise was found.

And yet surely this was still easier than running a country, freshly freed from both a Blight and a civil war?

So Evelyn returned frequently to that same idle fantasy, of writing to King Alistair Theirin, if only to brag.

“Does he know,” Cullen asked her one night after dinner, as they sat in front of the fire in their tower apartment, “about Leliana meeting with Moira on the shore of Lake Calenhad? Bragging aside, that might be a conversation he needs to have. I know I would want any information about _you_ , were the roles reversed.”

“I honestly don’t know,” Evelyn responded, snuggling against him. “I don’t know if Leliana would have felt comfortable writing him. And I don’t even know what was discussed; she never said and I never asked.”

“You should write,” Cullen gently insisted. “If it keeps coming to mind, you should act on it. I’ve never seen your instincts be wrong.”

She kissed him, hard against the cheek, and popped up from the floor. “If _you_ think I should, and I rather want to, I ought to stop just thinking about it.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that,” Cullen said with a laugh, not moving from his spot by the fire.

“What’s that?” she asked, crossing to her desk and turning up the oil lamp as she dug out a quill and pot of ink.

“Having my advice acted on. I can issue orders to troops all day, but having you leap to your feet just because I idly suggest something is a completely different kind of…”

“Power?” she offered, smiling as she laid out a stack of heavy stationary.

“I suppose so, yes.”

“Because Maker forbid you ever realize how utterly brilliant and capable you are,” she said with a laugh.

“Shut up and write your letter.”


	2. Taunting a King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which letters are written.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the shortest chapter I will ever post, but I think it needs to stand on its own.

_To his Royal Majesty, Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden_

_Please allow me to introduce myself; while you have had dealings with the Inquisition in the past, it has largely been with my Ambassador, Josephine Montilyet. I have not had the pleasure of your acquaintance, and I would seek to rectify this grievous oversight._

_As you likely know, I am Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan Rutherford, originally of Ostwick, lately of Skyhold. I have spent a great deal of time in Ferelden, and am quickly growing fond of your country. I must admit to a certain aversion to your ale, but to each his own._

_I am writing to you now largely because I feel it would be mutually beneficial to establish a cordial relationship between Fereldan and the Inquisition, beyond the business dealings we have had in the past. I have regular correspondence with Empress Celene, and I find it odd I cannot claim the same with your Majesty._

_To a lesser degree, this message has taken form because I have found we share a great number of mutual acquaintances, and I cannot claim a belief in coincidence. And, lastly, I am perhaps ashamed to admit, I wanted to gloat: when_ I _saved the world, I didn’t immediately have a country to run._

_I am eager to receive your reply, and I hope this can be the beginning of a firmer relationship for your country with the Inquisition, and through us, the Chantry and Orlais._

_Sincerely,_

_Evelyn_

 

Alistair read the letter six times before he managed to come to any conclusions.

The signature was what threw him, if he was honest. Her last two sentences were a _brag_ and what from anyone else would be seen as a  _threat_ , and then she signed off like they were old friends. Alistair was not known to be a great mind, but over a decade of sitting on a throne had beaten a certain appreciation of the Game into him, and he could not help but think he was powerfully outmatched.

…until he got to the signature. Was it possible Inquisitor Trevelyan was a relentless wiseass? The more he read through the letter, the more convinced he became. This was the kind of letter one sarcastic asshole wrote another sarcastic asshole before they were comfortable enough to be plain.

He knew next to nothing about the woman; the only common knowledge was of her deeds, not her personality. Well, that, and her father was a prick. He knew she had Leliana and – Maker save him – Morrigan in her ranks. But more telling was perhaps that she had married Cullen Rutherford. While Alistair had known of Cullen during his brief foray into the Templar Order – they took their training together, Honnleath not being that far from Redcliffe in the grand scheme of things – he hadn’t really met the man until Moira had led them through the fallen Circle at Kinloch. His time in Kirkwall was highly acclaimed, and his triumph over lyrium addiction was an achievement Alistair could only imagine with a shudder.

But Cullen Rutherford was a commoner, regardless of his rise through the Templar Order to what was now the very top. A Fereldan commoner, at that. That the son-in-law of Lord Trevelyan was a no-name boy from Honnleath spoke volumes about the Inquisitor.

Alistair just wasn’t completely sure what language it was speaking in.

He called for his steward. “I need some information,” he told the man, and drifted into thought as he waited for the Minister of Intelligence to answer his summons.


	3. Letters to a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get to the point.

_My Lady Inquisitor,_

_It pleases me to involve myself with such an illustrious organization as yours. Let me state how intrigued I am to be given the opportunity to learn more about the woman behind the Inquisition. Beyond our common acquaintances, we could compare our opinions of accomodations… while I could tell you about the dungeons in Denerim and Redcliffe, you could tell me about the dungeons in Ostwick and Haven. Already our relationship begins to bear fruit._

_My apologies for how comparatively short my letter is; the task of running a country draws me away. I am sure you know nothing of such responsibility._

_As you are sure to have much more down time than me, now that the world is saved again and all, I am accompanying this letter with a barrel of the best ale Ferelden has to offer. I picked the dog hair out of it myself._

_Sincerely,_

_Alistair Theirin_

“Oh, I need to show this to Leliana,” Evelyn said, reading and re-reading the letter from her perch atop the barrel of ale it arrived with. “And he had me vetted! Look, Cullen, he knows I was jailed in Ostwick.”

Cullen was watching her with an open smile. “Are you going to keep that forever because it has his autograph?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “If it was signed by his wife, maybe.”

Cullen laughed. “I don’t know, you haven’t met him yet. Dorian told me of your weakness for blond former Templars.”

She swatted him without looking up. “He even answered my gloat with a jab at my relative lack of responsibility. He’s funny, right? I was so sure he was funny. He has to be picking on me, he just has to be.”

Cullen sighed, and lifted her off the barrel, ignoring her squeak of complaint. “Leliana will be back any day now, you can ask her then. Although since she doesn’t know you’ve struck up a conversation with him, your guess is as good as mine as to how well she will react.”

“Ugh,” Evelyn said, dropping her head to Cullen’s shoulder. “I forgot. I should have asked her first.”

“Too late now,” he said in reply, carrying her a few steps towards the door before setting her back on her feet. He whisked the letter out of her hands. “We broach the barrel tomorrow, so you can at least thank him for the gift. We can invite Killeen and all the Fereldan officers to dinner to share in it, and any others who would be interested.”

“How do you always have the best ideas?”

Cullen shrugged. “One of us has to.”

 

*

 

Leliana was less displeased than Evelyn feared, but more so than she had hoped.

“You want to tell him that I saw Moira,” she said, after Evelyn had finished explaining the situation and Leliana had read Alistair’s letter.

“I want to tell him that we found a way to contact Moira, and we had a letter from her, yes. Because if it were Cullen, I would want to know any communications we’d had. We don’t know if Alistair has been in contact with his Queen, and I feel like giving him the letter we got from his wife is the right thing to do.”

Leliana sighed. “You’re right. Of course you are right. We should have sent word to him as soon as we heard from her. I should have sent word when I saw her by Lake Calenhad.”

Evelyn shook her head, reaching out to cup Leliana’s elbow gently. “That is between you and her – and him. I have no part in that. And the letter we received from her was much later than that. I will just give him our last known correspondence.”

Leliana nooded wordlessly.

“Now,” Evelyn said, shifting so she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her Spymaster and holding the letter out in front of them both. “Tell me. Is he being funny? Or did I insult him?”

 

*

 

_Dearest King Alistair,_

_I had been told of your visit to the Denerim dungeon, but your reference to Redcliffe was a false claim. Merely passing through does not give you enough information to recommend the accomodations, I am afraid. While I became quite familiar with the 3 rd cell block in Ostwick, I can assure you I do not miss it. I am sure the inverse is also true._

_There is not much I wouldn’t give, however, to be able to revisit the cell in which I awoke in Haven._

_Cullen and the rest of the Inquisition military command would like to thank you for your very generous gift. When I woke up in the dungeon at Haven, I first assumed my missing memory of what landed me there must have been due to such heady Fereldan ale, and I have long since sworn off it. Cullen has vowed to drink my share, and so the gratitude I pass along is his._

_I am glad, however, for the opportunity to match your gift with one of my own. While we were investigating the sudden disappearance of the Orlesian Grey Wardens, we traced whatever Wardens we could hear word of. This is how we came to have Thom Ranier (known to us at the time as Blackwall) and Stroud in our midst. However, we also managed to get word to the Warden Commander of Ferelden, and she kindly sent us a response. I am including her missive with this letter._

_Sincerely,_

_Evelyn_

 

The response Evelyn received, two weeks later, came in the form of a full regiment of Fereldan cavalry and a messenger in the livery of the King. She met them personally in the courtyard as they entered Skyhold. Cullen provided them accomodations inside the Keep and turned their mounts over to Dennett for stabling. The messenger was brought into the war room, where Josephine and Leliana were waiting.

He was a young blond man, barely out of his teens, and he blanched when he saw Leliana.

The Spymaster narrowed her eyes, but held her silence.

“Welcome to Skyhold,” Evelyn told the messenger. “What news have you from Denerim?”

The young man broke the seal on his satchel and handed her a heavily bound and waxed scroll. “His Majesty, King Alistair Theirin, cordially invites you to a summit between the Inquisition and the Kingdom of Ferelden. I am honored to return your response to the King with no delay; we thank you for your accomodations overnight and beg to return tomorrow with your reply.”

Evelyn blinked. She handed the missive to Josephine, reeling at the response to her letter.

“You’re one of Goldanna’s boys,” Leliana said suddenly, and the messenger flinched in confirmation. “How fares your mother?”

He was remarkably steady, Evelyn couldn’t help but think. That he only flinched twice under the Nightingale’s gaze said wonders for his resolve. “My mother was killed during the Battle of Fort Drakon, when the archdemon was slain.”

“And the King took you in?”

He shook his head slightly. “No, my lady. The King gave each of us over to an apprenticeship when he found out. My oldest sister is a Templar now. At least, I believe so. I haven’t heard from her since the Conclave.”

Cullen stepped forward then, pulling the boy out of the room and quietly talking with him. The Commander was a known meddler in the affairs of his troops; if the boy’s sister had survived the War of the Breach, as it was now being called, Cullen would know.

Josephine had sliced open the seal and unrolled the scroll. “It is a very standard invitation, if heavily sealed,” she said absently as she perused it. “There is no indication of what the King wishes to speak of, but he is very clear in asking for the Inquisitor.”

“I could ride with his honor guard,” Evelyn said, peering over the Ambassador’s shoulder.

“No, that would make you look like you were summoned. This is an invitation, not a subpoena.”

“So what do you suggest?”

Leliana was peering over Josephine’s other shoulder. “Follow a single day behind. Take your own honor guard. And Cullen, definitely Cullen. If this ends up being a social call, it would be reinforced by you having your lord husband with you.”

“Her what?” Cullen said, reentering the room.

Leliana waved a hand at  him, dismissively. “We’re going to get you titled. Don’t worry about it.”

Evelyn snickered but didn’t look up. She could feel Cullen’s chin brush her hair; he was looking over her head at the letter in Josephine’s hands. Josie seemed to notice they were all looming behind her and spun around, exasperated. “Oh, fine, read it yourself. But there’s nothing in it to indicate why he suddenly needs to meet the Inquisitor.”

“Maybe he wants to thank me for sending him the letter we got from the Queen.”

“For what?” Josie gasped. “You wrote to him?”

“A couple times,” Evelyn shrugged. “I wanted to brag that when I saved the world I bought myself a vacation, unlike how he had to immediately start bringing a country back out of a Blight.”

Josephine sat down heavily. “ _Evelyn_ ,” she said, scandalized, one hand over her heart. “How could you do this without even telling me? I am your _Ambassador_.”

She quickly knelt at Josie’s side. “No, no, it’s alright. It was meant to be a social conversation, not an official one. I figured I’m on relatively good terms with Celene, and from what I knew of him, he had the same kind of humor as me, so I thought-“

“I helped her, Josie,” Leliana said suddenly, and Josephine breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the Maker. As long as she was supervised.”

“ _Hey,_ ” it was Evelyn’s turn to be scandalized. “You let me run around and mediate things all the time. I’m not _that_ bad.”

“You tried to, and I quote, _put a fucking hole in_ the Comtesse d’Lyons,” Leliana said dryly.

Evelyn shrugged. “Deservedly so.”

Josephine just shook her head. “Maybe I should go with you.”

“I will,” Leliana said softly. All three turned to look at her. “I know my way around Denerim.”

And so it was decided. Alistair’s honor guard left Skyhold the next morning, well fed and reprovisioned. The messenger – Cullen said his name was Lyle – had given what information he could of his sister, and Captain Killeen was in charge of running her down, if she yet lived. Evelyn, Cullen, and Leliana left the next day, surrounded by their own honor guard led by Knight-Captain Aillis.

Evelyn was overly fond of the young Knight-Captain. Aillis had risen in the ranks following the Battle for Adamant. When her Captain had been killed at the Temple of Mythal, Cullen had promoted her to Knight-Captain, preferring to keep the chain of command within her company intact. It had proven a sound decision, as Ailis was every bit as effective as Killeen or Knight-Commander Barris.

And when you got a couple drinks into her, she was as good a storyteller as Varric Tethras himself. The number of people who knew that could be counted on one hand, however; Evelyn was thrilled that she was one of them.

The ride to Denerim was uneventful; the weather was cooperative, and Aillis kept her scouts active to make sure there were no surprises. The only thing they were missing, as far as Evelyn was concerned, was her team. Cassandra and Dorian and Varric would have made this trip perfect. Or Sera’s comments about going off to meet some fancypants King; Alistair was the kind of rags-to-riches story Evelyn could only imagine Sera’s opinion of.

Josephine had insisted on them all wearing the new Inquisition regalia. Cullen’s familiar (if reviled) bearskin was gone, replaced with silverite ceremonial half plate and a crimson cloak bearing the golden eye of the Inquisition. Evelyn and Leliana were both in thick leather the color of roasted chesnuts, riveted and accented with bright brass, and hooded versions of the crimson cloak Cullen wore. Their honor guard was equipped in one of several varieties of a standard issue armor: scouts were in darker versions of Leliana and Evelyn’s leather, with the Eye emblazoned on their left breast; Templars wore their Templar plate but with the crimson-and-gold tabard of the Inquisition; archers dressed like scouts but with the tabard, and if they’d brought mages, they would be wearing a simple brown coat with the Inquisition Eye on the lapels over whatever mage robes they preferred.

Their mounts were highly variable, but their saddles and tack were a leather not unlike Evelyn and Leliana’s armor, with brass fittings and crimson accents. Josephine was highly pleased with their appearance when they’d ridden out of Skyhold, and they had managed to ride into Denerim looking almost as good, if a bit road worn.

They were expected, if on short notice, and they were met at the gates by the Captain who had led the Fereldan honor guard to Skyhold. With minimal ceremony, the Inquisition contingent traveled through Denerim to the castle; Leliana riding between Evelyn and Cullen and keeping a running monologue about where they were and which of the stories about the Blight had happened where.

At one point, she gestured towards a narrow if well-traveled side road with a laugh. “The Pearl is down there… it is where we met Isabela.”

Cullen felt an eyebrow lift almost to his hair line. “As in Hawke’s friend Isabela?”

Leliana chuckled. “The same. Varric assures me that meeting Moira and Alistair is among her most treasured memories.”

“And The Pearl is a tavern?” Evelyn asked.

Leliana laughed again. “’Tis a brothel. And a very long story. As we come around this corner you’ll be able to see Fort Drakon clearly for the first time…”

And so it went up to the castle.

They were ushered into the throne room with very little ceremony but very high honor; every passageway they walked was lined with guards at attention. There were two mabari at the door to the throne room, and even they seemed to sit at attention as the Inquisitor passed.

The room was empty but for the two mabari and the blond man on the throne. They entered single file, Evelyn followed by Cullen and Leliana seeming to disappear behind the Commander’s broad shoulders. The King of Ferelden stood as they approached, and he quickly strode across the room to meet them halfway.

“I would like to start this off with a request,” he said, right hand extended to Evelyn. She reached out and caught it in a firm clasp with a smile. “We all bear enough titles to drown under. Let us simply be people; I am Alistair.”

Evelyn found herself grinning at him, never so pleased she had decided to write him. “I am Evelyn. I believe you briefly met my husand, Cullen?” She stood aside and let the two men shake hands. Cullen was taller and broader, but they were both men who had spent a lot of time with a shield on their arm, and knew each other from reputation aside from titles. As Alistair stood back from Cullen, he seemed to realize there was a third person in the room.

“Leliana,” he breathed, and quickly closed the distance to crush her in a hug. The Nightingale broke into a helpless grin and hugged him back. “Alistair,” she greeted him simply.

“I can’t believe you came. Of course, I hoped you would, but I didn’t expect- no matter. Welcome back.”

“Thank you. Our Ambassador, Josephine, was nervous about letting the Inquisitor out on her own-“

“ _Hey,_ ” Evelyn protested.

“-so I came along merely as a reassurance.”

Alistair was laughing happily. “And since you knew how socially inept I was, it was safer for you to come than your Ambassador.”

Leliana’s grin widened. “I am so pleased you said it so I didn’t have to.”

With a quick pat of Leliana’s shoulder, Alistair made a gesture and led them to an antechamber, letting them file in before him. He whistled shrilly, and the two mabari bounded into the room before he shut the door. They seemed old, up close, and one of the pair bounded into Leliana’s lap as soon as she was seated. “Rufus!” she cried happily.

Alistair grunted. “Little beasty is still kicking, you see. That is his mate, Roxie. We’ve got quite the pack of them now.”

He was once a uniform chocolate brown, Evelyn suspected, although she knew little about the war hounds. He had an extensive grey beard covering his muzzle, and flecks of grey over the rest of his body. The female, Roxie, wasn’t much younger. She had planted herself next to Cullen, who was happily scratching her ears while Rufus tried his best to fit his massive form onto Leliana’s diminutive lap. She gave up the chair and sat on the floor to better accommodate the dog.

“Old travelling companion?” Evelyn asked, bemused by the reactions her companions were having to a pair of old dogs.

“Rufus is a great warrior,” Leliana was saying in a cutesy voice, and the dog in question squirmed and rolled onto his back in joy. “Rufus is the _true_ Hero of Ferelden, isn’t he? He is!”

“If I didn’t think it would eat your nugs, I would send you home with a puppy,” Alistair threatened happily. He gestured to Cullen and Roxie. “You want one, Cullen? One of their granddaughters is expecting a litter, and we're nearing capacity.”

The look on Cullen’s face was priceless. Evelyn knew she was staring but didn’t care; Cullen’s jaw dropped, and then his mouth worked silently for thirty or forty seconds before he managed to regain control over his expression. “I don’t know as I’d have the time to devote to a mabari,” he said stiffly, and Evelyn swatted him. “He would fucking _love_ a puppy, Alistair.”

Alistair laughed. “Done,” he said, and he & Evelyn shook on it. “You’ll get the pick of the litter once it’s weaned.”

“Cullen,” Evelyn chided him, “watch yourself. That’s the same look you had on your face when I told you I cared for you.”

Cullen went beet red – the first blush Evelyn had seen in months – and shook his head. Leliana and Alistair joined Evelyn in laughter, and Evelyn found herself inordinately pleased – for the second time – that she had written to the King.

“Okay, so I have to ask,” she said when they were done picking on Cullen. “Why the grand invitation?”

Alistair sobered quickly. “That letter from Moira,” he began, taking a pause after saying his wife’s name. Evelyn could hear the difference in the way he said it, the weight that word carried that no others did. She hadn’t known the man long but she knew he was madly in love with his wife. “…how old is it?”

It had been months since they’d received it. Leliana gave Alistair the story of how they’d tracked Moira down, and the general area she was believed to be in when the letter was sent.

Alistair nodded. “That is what I thought. But thank you for the verification.”

“Have you heard from her more recently?” Evelyn asked gently.

He was still for a moment, but then he nodded, once. “It was barely anything. Two lines, no signature. It arrived the day after your last letter; if I was a religious man I would have thought it providence. And your first letter – you said you didn’t believe in coincidence, so I was sure if you came and let me explain, you would help.”

“Help?” Evelyn said, sitting forward sharply.

Alistair pulled a well-worn scrap of parchment from a pocket against his chest. It looked to have been unfolded and refolded to the point of falling apart.

“You know her mission,” he said, softly. “You know what she was looking for, and I’m sure you understand why. I think she’s found the answer, but she needs help. She sent this to me. It would be worthless to anyone who didn’t travel with her during the Blight. She is a blunt woman, my Moira; the only reason she would send something so obtuse-“

“Is if she’s in danger,” Leliana finished softly. She put her hand out for the message and, to his credit, Alistair handed it over without any hestitation.

“We chased him from the shaperate to the proving,” Leliana read. “Now I need him where I was sent in the Fade.”

She and Alistair exchanged a long look.

“Who does she need?” Evelyn asked.

Leliana shook her head. “Not who, but what.”

Alistair gave Evelyn a piercing look. “I need a thief.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Part 1 was sparked by bear catapults, this work was started by that last sentence.


	4. The Story So Far

She was grinning; she knew she was grinning, just as she knew she _really shouldn’t be grinning_. Just as she knew without looking that Cullen was palming his face.

“Ev, you slattern,” Leliana muttered. “You get to have _all_ the fun.”

Alistair looked astonished. “Is that really all it took?”

Her jaw hurt, she was grinning so widely. She fought to tone it back, but failed.

“What?” she said, trying act nonchalant. “You think it would be hard to convince me to abandon a mountain of paperwork, a horde of courtiers, the double headed beast named Politics and Influence? Andraste’s ass, Alistair, just point me in the right direction and _I’m gone_.”

He was grinning too, then. “You’re not mad I called you a thief?”

“Would you be mad if I called you a warden?”

His grin stretched to meet hers. “If that’s the worst thing you can think to call me? No, not at all.”

“Oh for the love of… _stop it_ ,” Leliana said, annoyed. “There was a thief in the shaperate in Orzammar, the first time it had happened in ages, and he left right as we arrived. We chased him to Dust town, killed him, and then traced the tome to the provings. Bought it back. Gave it back to the shaperate. So she wants to steal something, that is very clear.”

“Moira wasn’t a mage,” Cullen said, his first contribution in some time. “When was she in the Fade?”

Leliana reached across and put a hand to his knee, an apology written across her face. “This won’t be easy to hear.”

Concern was mirrored in Alistair’s face. “Kinloch,” he said softly, and Cullen squeezed his eyes shut.

“We went there first, when we first started out to stop the Blight,” Alistair continued, speaking to Evelyn now. She was the only one who hadn’t been there. “Morrigan led us to Lothering from Ostagar, which is where we met the lovely Leliana.”

“And Sten,” Leliana said distantly, eyes focused past Evelyn’s shoulder and a decade in the past.

“She was crazy then,” he said as an aside, quirking a look at the Nightingale. “Still crazy now?”

“Loony,” Evelyn agreed easily. “And from Lothering you went to the Ferelden Circle?”

“Kinloch,” Alistair answered. “We wanted to get some distance between us and Ostagar, and Moira was hoping to recruit a mage who could heal better than Morrigan – and be less of a _bitch_.”

“Wynne,” Leliana said, voice still distant. She glanced to Alistair. “She passed-“

“I heard,” he said shortly, and they were both quiet for a moment. “Once we finally got the ferryman to cart us over, we were stopped in the front hall by Knight-Commander Greagoir and told the Circle was lost, they were awaiting the Right of Annulment.”

Evelyn pulled her chair next to Cullen’s, took his hand. He was handling this better than she thought he would, but he was still tight with tension. He wove his fingers through hers and rubbed his thumb in circles on her palm. She placed her other hand over his wrist, and it seemed to calm him. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Alistair as he told the story she had only heard brokenly from Cullen.

“Moira convinced Greagoir – how, I will never understand – to let her get to the top of the tower and find out if anyone was even still alive. It never would have worked if we had Morrigan with us, but since I was a former Templar and neither Moira nor Leliana was a mage, he let us by. The chances of any of us being possessed was low enough to justify the risk.”

Leliana snorted a laugh, no amusement in the sound.

Alistair flashed her a wry smirk. “I know, right? So we pass through the Apprentice quarters are there’s Wynne, with two other mages and a veritable herd of children. She’d barricaded them in the corrider so nothing could get past her – neither the Rite from one way nor any demons from the other. Moira told her the Rite had been sent for, and if we wanted to avoid it we needed to get to the top of the tower and kill the abominations ourselves. Wynne agreed, and left Petra with the children.”

“And then we wasted that first hour running around in the library…” Leliana broke in, causing Alistair to laugh.

“I couldn’t decide if Wynne was pleased that Moira was so interested, or aggravated that we were running around picking up books for some random summoning ritual.”

Cullen made an impatient gesture with his free hand, and Alistair cleared his throat. “Right, sorry. We cleared every room of the tower, all the way up. It was in… rough shape. It looked Blighted, in a way. We were almost to the top when we walked into a trap. A sloth demon had set up shop right before the stairs leading to the top of the tower, barring the only access to the harrowing chamber where we had heard Irving had been taken.”

Cullen grunted in surprise. He hadn’t heard this part of the story.

“Wynne fought the hardest, of course, but we were all trapped. Sloth demons – as I’m sure you know – pull you into the Fade and leech the life from you while you sleep. We were all sent to different dreams, different parts of the Fade. Moira broke out of her dream and then found all the rest of us, killing many of the minor demons Sloth was using as prison guards along the way. We killed Sloth from inside the Fade, and when he died we were able to escape. The bit of sleep was nice, actually. From that room, we were only one staircase away from where we found Cullen, and I’m sure you know the story from there.”

Evelyn nodded, risking a glance to Cullen. He was shaking his head sadly.

“Glad I didn’t know that, then,” he said softly. “If the boy I was had any idea you had just escaped a sloth demon, I would have fought twice as hard to have the Circle annulled.”

Leliana scoffed. “Why do you think we did not tell you?”

Cullen lifted a hand in acknowledgement of her point.

Alistair sliced both hands down into a point in front of him, a gesture for focus. “We never talked about what our individual dreams were. Never asked, never ventured. I don’t know what held Leliana, or Wynne, and I would never ask. But Moira told me hers. I assume she told you, too, Lana?”

His use of Moira’s nickname for Leliana made Evelyn tense, but Leliana only smiled. “Weisshaupt,” she said by way of answer. “She had to kill Duncan.”

Alistair nodded, then to clarify for Evelyn, “The warden who brought both Moira and I into the order. Duncan. A great man. Her dream took her to Weisshaupt, where Duncan told her we had ended the Blights and set the underground breeding fields of darkspawn ablaze. Wardens weren’t needed anymore; why the sloth demon thought that would hold her, I don’t know. It would have held me for sure. But she fought and slew Duncan, and then freed us all.”

“So the place she’s referring to in the note…?”

Alistair and Leliana both nodded, grimly. “She wants to steal something from Weisshaupt.”

 

*

 

They had remarkably little to go on. They had no way to plan; really the only option was for Evelyn to make the journey to Weisshaupt and see for herself what Moira needed.

“You’ve got two options,” Cullen was saying over dinner. “You can go in as a full diplomatic mission, taking soldiers and whatever else you like. We could very easily come up with any number of reasons for the Inquisition to go. Or, you can sneak in.”

“While you would have more resources available to you with a diplomatic mission,” Leliana said, clearly agreeing with Cullen’s observation, “it may be prudent, given we don’t know what is needed to be done, to go in less ceremoniously.”

“Plausible deniability?” Evelyn asked with a smirk.

“You know it’s my favorite,” Leliana responded sweetly.

“If you’re sneaking in,” Cullen continued, “you shouldn’t go alone.”

“Dorian would go along,” Evelyn said in agreement. “But Varric would be the better choice.”

“Varric should be back in Kirkwall by now,” Leliana began, but Alistair broke in. “Varric Tethras?”

Evelyn nodded with a smirk. “I’m not one to be outdone. He’s writing the story of the Inquisition. Marian Hawke won’t be the only one of us poor unfortunate souls to be immortalized in print by Varric.”

Alistair shook his head. “I will admit to enjoying the _Tale of the Champion_ but the _Hard in Hightown_ story line seems hard to believe.”

Cullen barked a laugh. “I wish I could tell you it was fiction, but Varric merely took some artistic liberties.”

Alistair grinned at him. “I heard mention that one of the characters was based on you.”

Cullen shook his head. “I wish I could tell you it was fiction….” He said again, and they all laughed.

“So I’ll send a message to Varric to meet you… where?” Leliana brought them back to the subject.

Evelyn shook her head. “He wouldn’t come for a message. At least, not for anything we could actually put in the message. I’ll have to go get him.”

“You are not going to Kirkwall without me,” Cullen said shortly.

“I can’t take you to Weisshaupt,” Evelyn replied gently. “Not for a mission of stealth.”

“Like me, eh?” Alistair said kindly.

Cullen snorted. “If you mean inexplicably loud and prone to bouts of clutziness? Then yes.”

Alistair laughed. “Funny, I did mean exactly that.”

“Moira is a warrior,” Leliana said over the men’s laughter. “But she is light on her feet. And she has been moving through the world silently. I’m confident she could fill Cassandra’s shoes.”

“Cassandra?” Alistair said, surprised. “Cassandra Penteghast? Divine Victoria?”

“My battle sister,” Evelyn said with a sad smile. “Like Sera said once, I would stand behind her in front of anything.”

“And Sera?”

Cullen grinned. “Red Jenny.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Boys!” Evelyn barked, fighting a laugh herself. “I’ll sail to Kirkwall to pick up Varric myself. Maybe Dorian could meet me there. I might need a mage, I might need a Tevinter, I might need some flamboyance. Regardless, he is sure to be handy.”

“You are not going to Kirkwall without me,” Cullen repeated. Evelyn frowned at him, but didn’t argue.

“Uh oh,” Alistair whispered loudly to Leliana. “Mom and Dad are fiiiiighting.”

Leliana snorted another laugh, but quickly averted her eyes.

“Evelyn,” Cullen said softly.

She reached out and put her fingers on his wrist. “You could travel back to Skyhold from Kirkwall,” she said slowly. “We could let the story go around,” she paused to look pointedly at Leliana, “that we’re visiting our former homes in the Free Marches together to tie up loose ends before settling down for good in Skyhold. Or wherever,” she quickly amended, since the _where to live happily ever after_ conversation had yet to happen. “By the time you get back to Skyhold, and people realize I’m not with you, I could be most of the way to Weisshaupt.”

Cullen smiled gratefully. “Thank you,” he said, inclining his head.

Alistair was frowning at them both. “That was it? Fight over? Damn newlyweds.”

Leliana snorted again, and leaned her head against Alistair’s shoulder as she laughed quietly. He looked down at her and grinned.

“He was my advisor first,” Evelyn said with a shrug. “What’s the point in having an advisor if you don’t listen to them?”

“When you see my wife,” Alistair said, a bit wistfully, “could you ask her to make me her advisor?”

Evelyn smiled at him. “You can tell her yourself when I drag her ass home.”

“I can drink to that,” he replied, but the sadness in his voice gave him away.

“How long has it been?” Leliana asked, when they tipped their glasses back to the table.

“Over a year, now. She left late in 9:39.”

“She loves you,” Leliana said gently. It was Evelyn’s turn to avert her eyes. “Nothing will keep her from you. You must know that. She will come home as soon as she can.”

Alistair nodded, but when he spoke, his tone was bitter. “Say that to the empty pillow next to mine.”

Their eyes met then, and Alistair could only meet Leliana’s gaze for a moment. “I’m sorry. You, of all people…”

“Yes,” Leliana agreed. “Yes, I know what it is to reach for her and have her not be there.”

They were all silent then.

“She will come home to you,” Leliana said again after a moment. “Trust me. It is only a matter of time.”

“Thank you,” Alistair said softly.

Leliana ruffled his hair. They finished their meal in silence.

“We’ll have to give you a nickname,” Evelyn said as they sat together in Moira’s library. Alistair rarely came to the room himself, so it was as good a place as any to hide from his royal obligations and spend time with his guests.

“A nick name?”

Leliana started to laugh. “Something Varric started that has served us well. Varric will need one, as well.”

“I thought he was the Asshole,” Cullen said, deadpan, and the two women laughed.

“Something a little less obvious,” Evelyn said through a giggle.

“But no less aggravating,” Leliana agreed. She turned to Alistair. “We use the nick names Varric has given to people to encrypt messages. That, and the gruesome language Evelyn uses in her missives, has worked as the best cypher I’ve ever come across. Poor Cullen is Curly, Evelyn is Knuckles, and I am the Nightingale. We will think of a way to refer to you.”

“Why Knuckles?”

Evelyn blazed red, much to the delight of Cullen and Leliana. “Oooh, forget I asked,” Alistair rescinded quickly.

“The problem with coming up with a nickname for Varric,” Leliana said while Evelyn fought to regain some degree of poise, “is that he is such a caricature of himself already. His crossbow is named after a woman he loved and lost, he’s got his shirt half-open all the time to expose his chest hair; anything you might pick out is just too obvious.”

“We could try the opposite,” Cullen said. “What is Varric _not_? We can opt for irony.”

“Noble,” Evelyn said as Leliana said “Honest.”

They both laughed. “Ouch,” Alistair winced.

“Could we call him His Grace?” Cullen suggested. “That should be sufficiently confusing in a missive.”

“Hmmm, I like where your head is,” Leliana approved, frowning in thought. “If a bit cumbersome.”

“How about ‘Prince’?” Evelyn asked, and Leliana cackled wickedly. “Ooh, he’ll hate it.”

“Princeling?” and they leaned against each other, laughing.

Cullen rolled his eyes, amused. “Do you have any input before they pin something on you?”

“What chance do I have? At least they’re going to stay away from the worst ones… DogLord and Bastard are too obvious.”

Leliana waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, Alistair is easy.”

“Am I now?”

She shrugged. “Rosebud.”

He covered his face with a palm. “Oh, I hate you so.”

Evelyn stifled a giggle at his response. “Rosebud?”

“You didn’t think you said it loud enough for anyone to hear, did you?” Leliana was laughing. “BEHOLD, THE POWER OF FLORAL ARRANGEMENT!”

“Damn, damn, damn,” Alistair muttered, the tips of his ears flaming red.

“He gave Moira a rose,” Leliana said, thrilled to be able to tease him like this. “And when Moira asked him what it was, he of course did not give her a straight answer, and made a flippant remark about how it was his new weapon against the darkspawn.”

“For the record,” Alistair said weakly, “Moira asked if it was my new weapon of choice, and I was mocking _her_.”

“Nope,” Evelyn said, shaking her head. “Its stuck. Welcome to the party, Rosebud.”

“She’s got a hand thing,” Cullen spoke up suddenly, and Evelyn flamed red again. “Ticklish everywhere else.”

Alistair burst out laughing as Evelyn launched herself at Cullen, tackling him to the floor.

“Fair is fair!” he laughed as he fended her off.

“Rat _bastard_ ,” she panted as she gouged her fingers into his ribs.

“Now now, if you're calling anyone a bastard it had better be me,” Alistair said, still laughing.

Evelyn was quickly pinned and then lifted from the floor by Cullen, and settled into his lap while they all caught their breath.

“Right,” Alistair said a minute later. “So, this is wonderful, and I’m glad you decided to join me. But how soon can you get out of here and find my wife?”


	5. The City of Chains

Leliana rode with the honor guard back to Skyhold after three nights in Denerim, leaving the morning after Evelyn and Cullen took ship to Kirkwall. Ravens wouldn’t be able to safely cover the distance from Weisshaupt to Skyhold, much less Denerim, so messages would be scarce by necessity. Word would be sent back to Skyhold with Cullen when they left Kirkwall, and Leliana planned to send Dorian with an escort to meet them in Cumberland; the escort would likely be the last news they received of Evelyn’s team until a reliable messenger could be found.  

Despite Evelyn’s being born in the Free Marches, and Cullen having lived in Kirkwall nearly a decade, neither of them were good sailors. The Waking Sea was gentle this time of year, so they made it to the City of Chains with relatively little discomfort. Cullen led Evelyn unerringly through the twisting city to an estate in Hightown. They had left their Inquisition uniforms in their trunks for Leliana to return to Skyhold, and travelled now as Mr and Mrs Rutherford. They were dressed as travelers, if well to do and relatively heavily armed ones. Evelyn’s dragonbone and obsidian daggers were poorly hidden beneath her cloak, and Cullen openly wore his sword, though his shield was in the trunk carried behind them by a porter.

There was a dog barking somewhere, and Evelyn was too busy trying to take in everything – this was the setting of Varric’s novels, after all – to notice where they were. The door snapped open and an elf was glaring at them, and the dog barking got louder.

The elf was covered with glowing tattoos; Evelyn had never seen anything like it. She barely had a chance to react before the glare slid from his face. “Knight-Commander,” he greeted Cullen, clasping hands with him. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Fenris,” Cullen said easily. “I don’t answer to that title anymore.”

“Of course not," Fenris apologized. “Do come in.”

The porter seemed terrified at where they had brought him, and he dropped the trunk inside the entry way and then vanished. The barking was deafening now, and Cullen quickly stepped to the door of side room. “Good afternoon, Brewer,” he called.

A happy bark answered, and then silence. Cullen met Evelyn’s eyes and shrugged. “Just being polite.”

Fenris was studying Evelyn, and she was returning the favor as politely as possible.

“Surely this is not your lady wife?” Fenris said finally.

“Ah, yes, forgive me. Fenris, Evelyn Trevelyan Rutherford. Evelyn, this is Fenris.”

Evelyn swept him a deep curtsey and Fenris, pleasantly surprised, returned the honor. “Pleased to finally meet you,” she said.

“And I you. To what do we owe the honor?”

“Is Marian around?”

With a laugh, Fenris gestured at the stairs to the loft. “She’s a night owl. Since Varric got back she’s been at the Hanged Man nearly every night. I’ll go wake her. She’ll be thrilled to see you.”

He showed them into the room Brewer was occupying – the mabari thrilled to see Cullen, as the dogs seemed to know a Fereldan instinctively – and paused for a moment at the door. “Before I harass her too much,” Fenris said slowly. “…did Hawke know you were coming?”

Evelyn and Cullen exchanged a guilty look.

“Right. Does Varric know you are coming?”

Evelyn shook her head. Fenris grinned suddenly, surprising her. “Good. Keep the little bastard on his toes.”

The Rutherfords – Evelyn got an unexpected amount of glee out of the phrase – made themselves at home in the parlor, Brewer hopping into a chair to give the impression that he was a proper host.

Marian Hawke tumbled into the room less than five minutes later, barely put together and grinning like a fiend. “ _Evelyn_ ,” she cried, throwing herself into the parlor. “Andraste’s bleeding nipples, woman, what are you doing here?” The two women embraced, laughing, and Cullen stood with a smile.

“Cullen!” Hawke clasped his hand, then pulled him close for a hug. “Augh, about time you settled down, you cranky bastard.”

They all collapsed into chairs then, and talked happily for some time. The afternoon faded into twilight before they got around to the business part of their visit.

“Can you put us up for a few nights, Marian?” Evelyn asked when Hawke inquired where they were staying.

“Gladly!” she quickly agreed. “I assume Cullen can bunk down with an apostate?”

Cullen smiled at her. “All mages are apostates now, Hawke. You’re safe from me.”

“You knew, didn’t you?” she asked then, and Evelyn could tell she’d wanted to ask for a long time.

Cullen sighed. “I suspected, of course. You were generally very good about _not_ wielding magic in town. At least, not where anyone could see it. You were the worst-kept secret in Kirkwall. Even if I had undeniable proof, you were untouchable, between Varric and the rest of your dubious associates.”

Hawke grinned at him. “You knew.”

Cullen laughed. “Yes, fine, I knew.”

“I can’t believe you let me get away with it.” Fenris coldly agreed, and Hawke laughed at him.

“You were everything a mage wasn’t supposed to be,” Cullen said slowly, trying to explain without offending Fenris. “By the time I was sure you were an apostate – by the time I had any amount of evidence or witnesses – you were saving half-elves from the Fade and helping Templars hunt down blood mages. Even if I could have done anything about you – and I couldn’t, don’t get me wrong – I would have been a fool to. Knowing you helped me recover from Kinloch. I suppose I should thank you for it.”

Evelyn ruffled his hair affectionately as Marian beamed her appreciation. “Oddly, that’s what Fenris says about  me, too.”

For his part, Fenris rolled his eyes. Once Hawke looked away, he smiled quickly at Cullen. Evelyn ducked her head to hide a smile; the elf was clearly acting the part Marian had grown used to him playing.

“So is this just a leisure visit?” their hostess asked.

“Would you believe me if I said it was?” Evelyn replied dryly.

Hawke snorted. “Fuck no. Kirkwall cannot possibly be _your_ destination of choice.”

Evelyn smiled at her.

“So, is it me or Varric you’re after?”

“Varric,” Cullen affirmed.

“Oh, to the Void with you both,” Marian grumped. “You just gave him back.”

Evelyn leaned forward. “I can’t tell you. Andraste forgive me, I want to. But listen to me very, very closely.”

Marian shot an amused glance at Cullen and Fenris before leaning over conspiratorially to hear what Evelyn was saying.

“There is _one thing_ that could possibly make Varric leave Kirkwall again, especially so soon after coming back. Rather, only one _subject_ that an author of his caliber could _possibly_ be interested in. And I could not possibly hope to tell you about her.”

Marian’s eyes lit up. “No!”

Evelyn shook her head. “No.”

They both started laughing. “Will I get the story when he comes back?”

“Oh, I’m sure he will be on pins and needles to tell you.”

“Augh, blast you, Evelyn, now I want to know everything. You know where she is? No, forget I asked.”

“Asked what?”

“Varric should be awake by now,” Hawke said, glancing at the timepiece on the mantle. “I’m sure Cullen could find his way there in his sleep, but I would be honored to be your guide on your first trip to the Hanged Man.”

“I think Cullen would kill me rather than let me go without him.”

Her husband snorted a laugh. “The idea of letting you loose in Kirkwall with _Hawke_ and _Varric_ makes my teeth hurt.”

They all laughed then. “Let me gear up,” Marian said, and she and Fenris quickly left and returned armed. Hawke had a staff slung over her shoulder that seemed to disappear as Evelyn looked at it, and Fenris wore a brutal looking great sword.

“Did you enchant your staff to be undetectable?” Evelyn asked. Cullen crooked an eyebrow at her.

“Had it done,” Hawke affirmed. “It’s the staff that gives you away.”

“You mean to say,” Cullen said slowly, “you would walk right up to me in the Gallows with a staff slung across your back?”

Hawke winked at him. Cullen could only shake his head. “Alright, so I feel less oblivious and more ignorant.”

Evelyn patted him on the arm. “There, there, love. If you were going to be fooled, be glad it took the likes of the Champion of Kirkwall to do it.”

 

*

 

The walk from Hightown to the Hanged Man reminded Evelyn of her early years in Ostwick. She adjusted the hood of her cloak to give her better access to her daggers, and fell into the silent strut she used in battle. Cullen noticed the shift and smiled his approval, but otherwise kept a diligent eye to his side of the street. Hawke and Fenris seemed more at ease, but Evelyn noticed they were watching just as warily.

“No one seems to recognize you,” Evelyn noted to Cullen as they walked.

“It’s the armor,” he said easily in reply. “Even when I lived here, if I wanted to go somewhere unnoticed, all I had to do was leave my armor in the barracks.”

Evelyn shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

“Says the woman who owns three sets of armor.”

She laughed. “Point taken. Ceremony, travel, and assassin black.”

“I’ll note you only brought the travelling browns this trip,” he said idly, but Evelyn could hear the point in the question.

“Everyone knows the black,” she said softly. “If it comes down to it, I can dye the browns.”

Cullen nodded, satisfied.

The walk was uneventful; even if nobody knew Evelyn was the Inquisitor, few in Kirkwall would willingly pick a fight with Hawke and Fenris.

“Oh, this is every bit as seedy and disgusting as I imagined,” Evelyn cooed happily when they arrived at the bar.

“That’s right,” Hawke said half to herself. “You’re the _youngest_ Trevelyan.”

Cullen laughed, loudly. “And here I thought you were kidding about your infamy.”

“Oh no,” Hawke said. “We heard all about this little shit.”

“Hawke!” a familiar voice called from inside the bar as Hawke shouldered open the door. “Its about damn time you wandered in, look who dropped by!”

Evelyn swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.

She let Hawke and Fenris get a few paces into the bar before she entered, Cullen’s chest hard against her back. He wasn’t wearing plate, but the meaning was clear, and she loved him for it.

Varric was sitting at a table off to the side of the room, with a buxom Rivaini and a guardswoman. Hawke barely glanced at the guard – clasping her hand out of habit – but grinned widely at the Rivaini. “Admiral,” she said wrly. “Hawke,” the grinning reply. The two women hugged fiercely before Hawke pulled back.

“Before we get too caught up, I’ve brought a surprise for you, too.”

Varric glanced at the door and his jaw dropped. “Maker’s sweaty ballsack,” he enunciated, shaking his head. The guardswoman and the Rivaini both seemed shocked that the dwarf could be so surprised, and they turned to see for themselves.

The guard quickly stood up and strode over to Cullen. “Knight-Commander,” she said, clasping his hand. “Guard Captain,” he replied. They smiled at each other before he said the inevitable, “I don’t answer to that title anymore.”  
“Right, Commander,” the Captain corrected herself with a smile. “Welcome back to Kirkwall.”

Varric pushed in between the two military types. “Curly,” he said shortly. “Knuckles, what the _shit.”_ He pulled her to him in a rough hug. “Am I glad to see you! I realized I didn’t get the notes on the fight you had with the Comtesse and I can’t exaggerate it if I don’t know what the simple truth was.”

That caused several gasps from behind him. “Aveline,” Cullen was saying. “Let me introduce you to my lovely wife. Evelyn, meet Aveline Vallen.”

Evelyn smiled into the brawny redhead’s eyes. Before Aveline could say anything, she whispered “Please. Just Evelyn.”

Aveline swallowed what was surely Evelyn’s more formal title. “Of course. Evelyn. It is… an honor.”

“A friend of Varric’s is a friend of mine,” she said simply, and the Guard Captain smiled in return.

“And, Evelyn, this is Isabela,” Hawke said from over Varric’s head.

“Leliana was just telling me about meeting you in Denerim,” Evelyn said with a smile, and the self-proclaimed Admiral threw her head back and laughed.

“Oh I am quite sure she didn’t tell you half of _that_ story.”

Varric looked hurt. “What story? Are we keeping stories from each other now? That’s devastating, Rivaini.”

Varric dragged Evelyn to the table and ordered a round. Cullen took the seat next to her and pushed his chair back so that he was slightly behind her. She shot him a grateful glance over her shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders as a wordless reply.

In the hour before dawn, Fenris and Evelyn staggered back into the Amell estate in Hightown. Cullen was right behind them, a thoroughly inebriated Hawke thrown over his shoulders. “Why,” he panted as he carried her up the stairs to her bedroom, “do I always end up _carting around_ unconscious women?”

“You obviously possess a very specific skillset,” Fenris gasped as he and Evelyn burst into a companionable round of giggles.

“That is a sound neither of you should be able to make,” Cullen said as he returned down the stairs. “See to  your woman, elf,” he said, swatting at Fenris and reclaiming Evelyn from him. Fenris simply laughed; the long night of hard drinking had seen to it they were all fast friends.

It was Evelyn’s turn to be swung into Cullen’s arms, and he carried her into the guest room behind the stairs. Evelyn crossed immediately to their trunk, making a quick check to make sure everything was still present.

“If it’s not safe here, its not safe anywhere,” Cullen said gently. “Between fear of Hawke’s reprisals and Brewer’s bite, no one would come in here.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Evelyn muttered, running through their inventory in her head. Cullen let her have her way.

He casually stripped to his trews and stretched out on their borrowed bed.

“So distracting,” she muttered, subtly turning her back. He cupped the back of his head in his hands and crossed his ankles.

With one hand, so she couldn’t see, he counted down from five… four… three… two… one…

“Made of sex,” she murmured, abandoning the trunk and throwing herself onto him. He laughed happily. “Anything missing?” he asked playfully.

She grunted. “No. Like you said.” She rolled onto her back and let him shuck her out of her clothes, laying her daggers to the side but throwing the rest unceremoniously to the floor. He pulled his trews off and the blankets up in one smooth motion, and pulled her back to lay on his chest.

“How are you still sober?” she complained against him.

“You have to be careful what you order at the Hanged Man,” he said simply.

“Yeah? What did you order?”

“Not a damn thing,” he smirked. “I took a skin of my own.”

“Cheeky, sirrah!” she chided, nibbling on his shoulder while he laughingly fled the attack.

“How drunk are you?” he asked slyly, pulling one leg over so she was straddling him. She growled at him. “Oh I am plenty sober for anything you have in mind,” she whispered into his ear.

“I am so glad to hear it, Mrs Rutherford,” he said. He pulled her mouth down to his and whatever reply she had was lost.

 

*

 

The next day mirrored the first but with two major alterations: they all slept well into the afternoon, and Evelyn ended the night as sober as she started it. The parts in between were debatable.

“I just got here,” Varric said, predictably, when Evelyn admitted why she had come. “And since when do you come all the way to the Marches just to ask a favor? Your hands aren’t broken, you can write a letter.”

“Is there someplace private we can talk about this?” Evelyn asked, not for the first time. Varric seemed to notice then the shift in her eyes, and her back pressed to Cullen. His eyes narrowed. “What shit are you into, Knuckles?”

“Please, Varric. Not here.”

Varric threw the proprietor a coin and led Evelyn and Cullen out of “his room” on the second floor to a corner room down the hall. The feel when the door slid shut reminded her of the war room back in Skyhold. “Warded room? In the Hanged Man?” Cullen was astonished.

Varric nodded. “Hawke had it done. It’s already paid for itself three times over. Now, spill it. What is such a big damn deal that you had to come all the way up here to see me for yourself.”

“You’re going to want to sit down.”

“Fuck you, Knuckles. There’s nothing that serious. We already faced down the end of the world.”

Evelyn shot Cullen a vexed look. “Alright, fine. The King of Ferelden is sending me to find his wife, because she needs someone to help her steal something from Weisshaupt.”

“Oh. Oh, well, shit. I need to sit down.”

“You don’t say.”

“And Curly’s going with you?”

“Curly came with me to Kirkwall. He’s going home and Dorian is going to meet us in Cumberland. The three of us will go overland to Weisshaupt, do a favor for some royalty, and then haul ass home without setting off an international incident.”

Varric just looked at her. His expression was completely unreadable.

“You’re dead serious,” he said finally. Cullen and Evelyn both nodded. He stared at them in response.

“Varric,” Evelyn said, crossing the room to clasp his shoulders and shake him gently. “Do you think I would drag you out of Kirkwall, away from Hawke and home and all your business, without it being _this_ big of a damn deal? Do you think I’m stupid enough to think you would agree to leave for anything less than the Hero of fucking Ferelden?”

“You could write a book on each of them, you know,” Cullen said from behind her. “You’ve got the Champion covered. The Inquisitor’s story will include the ascension of Divine Victoria. You’re just missing Queen Moira and you’ll be the semiofficial biographer of all the power women of the age.”

Varric started shaking his head. “Andraste’s bleached asshole, you fuckers drive a hard bargain.”

“Do you think Isabela would give us a lift to Cumberland?”

Varric snorted. “She’d kill me if I tried to go with anyone else.”

“Could she swing down to Jader and drop Cullen off in the mix?”

“Again, we’d be dead men if we didn’t.”

“So we’ll ask her how soon we can leave?”

“Yes. Shit. I’ll need a day or two to wrap shit up.”

“Sure thing, Varric. I’ll make the arrangements with Isabel.”

“Shit.”


	6. The Waking Sea

Two more nights in Kirkwall – the days spent wandering the city as Cullen gave a tour of his former home, the evenings with Hawke and Fenris at the Hightown estate – and then they were loaded into a Rivaini privateer, Captained by the now-infamous Isabela.

“Varric said Alistair sent you,” she said once they were underway. Surprised, Evelyn nodded affirmation.

“We’ll stop in Cumberland and Jader, like you asked. But afterward, I’ll take word to Denerim for you. There’s supplies in my cabin to write with if you need them.”

Evelyn quirked an eyebrow at the Captain. “We travelled together, once. Varric, Alistair, and I. He’s a good man. If _you_ of all people are on a mission from him, I can guess at what it is you’re doing. And there’s no one better to take him an update than me.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn managed, more than a little surprised. “Varric never mentioned…”

“It wouldn’t be the kind of thing he would talk about it. That any of us would.”

“Fair enough. We all have a few of those in our past.”

“Right. You’re the _youngest_ Trevelyan, aren’t you?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, you too?”

Isabela threw her head back and laughed. “I hope Varric finds a way to bring up your illustrious youth when he writes the story of the Inquisition.”

“Yeah, you and Cullen both.”

 

*

 

They stopped in Jader first; Cullen complained but Isabela showed him something to do with currents and wind patterns in the Waking Sea that time of year and insisted it was the faster route. They planned to put in only long enough for Cullen to to put ashore with their travel trunk, Evelyn’s limited gear now crammed into a pack and two saddlebags, as it had been when she traveled during the war.

“I want more time with you,” he confessed from the little cabin they shared belowdecks.

“I will miss you,” Evelyn replied, face buried in his throat. “Just as Alistair is eager for Moira to return home, so will I hurry back to you. I will do everything in my power to get this done and come home.”

“I know,” he said, drawing her close. “But thank you for saying it.”

“I will write if I am able.”

“Only if its safe.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cullen.”

“I know, I know. You are brilliant. You are the leader of the Inquisition. You are more than capable of judging when it is safe to write to your husband.”

“Thank you.”

“I left something for you,” he said, reluctantly. Like it was a surprise he wasn’t sure he wanted to spoil.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Since you’re going overland, I figured it would be safe… and give you something to do.”

“What’s that?”

“The journal you had me write in? I finished it. It’s in your pack.”

Evelyn’s breath caught. “Oh, that’s just cruel,” she said, caught between laughter and tears.

“I will be alone in our rooms, surrounded by our things. Don’t speak to me of cruel.”

She wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think we would be separated like this. Not so soon.”

“It seems to be our lot in life. I will make sure our portion of the world is secure and intact, while you fight to being order to the rest of it. But, Evelyn,” he said, twisting a bit so he could look her in the eye. “When you get home? We’re going on a trip. Call it a honeymoon, I don’t care. But you and I are escaping to somewhere trouble won’t find us.”

She laughed, eagerly nodding her head. “If I have to threaten to put holes in a dozen Comtesses so Josie sends me away. We will go.”

He tightened his arms around her. “But first, come home.”

 

*

 

Their leave-taking in Jader was done in the somber business manner they assumed every time Evelyn had left Skyhold. Everything was said below decks; they came out hand-in-hand, one of Isabela’s deckhands portering the trunk onto the dock and then into the waiting Inquisition carriage.

Cullen gently raised her hand to his lips, then they split, and he walked solemnly across the gangplank to shore. Evelyn watched him go. Isabela needed very little turnaround time, but a messenger jumped on board before she could cast off. Still watching Cullen as he spoke to the carriage driver, she didn’t notice there was an issue until Isabela brought it to her.

“You’re taking on cargo here?” She asked without preamble.

“What now?”

“Inquisition is having two items brought on board. Manifest was registered with the shipping board not two hours ago.”

Evelyn frowned at her. “I didn’t even know I would be in Jader until two days ago. I didn’t send for any cargo.”

“Well of _course_ you didn’t darling,” a familiar voice carried up from the dock. Evelyn felt her face break into a grin as she looked up to see Dorian waiting for her. “Sending for me would ruin the surprise.”

Cullen was standing behind the Tevinter, looking simultaneously pleased and envious. Dorian had likely been in the Inquisition carriage that was sent to pick up Cullen. The mage turned and quickly hugged the former Templar before bounding up the gangplank onto the ship.

Cullen nodded to Evelyn, and she gravely raised a hand in farewell. Cullen touched his fist to his lips, this his heart, then lifted it in the air in salute. Evelyn smiled, and he turned and climbed into the carriage, a sharp command startling the driver and forcing the carriage into motion. Evelyn pulled her eyes away just in time to be caught up in the Tevinter’s embrace.

“Leliana didn’t tell me where we were going, but from Jader it can’t be good. On a scale of one to Vivienne, how much am I going to hate this?”

“I think this ranks about a Redcliffe on the Dorian scale,” Varric’s voice rasped from the door to Isabela’s cabin.

Dorian shot Evelyn an exasperated look. “You brought the Princeling, I see.”

“The… what?”

“Ooh, you didn’t tell him? Delicious.” And with a quick ruffle of her hair, Dorian strode off to greet and harass Varric.

“Alright,” Isabela was saying slowly. Evelyn glanced at the shore just in time to see Cullen’s carriage round a bend in the road and disappear. He wasn’t looking back.

They never did.

“That was one of the two. Please tell me the other isn’t alive?”

“Its that trunk, there,” Dorian called, pointing at the seemingly very heavy luggage the deckhand-turned-porter was struggling to haul aboard. Isabela made a couple of quick barking commands and three men rushed to help him.

“Extra boots, Dorian?” Varric chirped, and Evelyn scowled to keep from blushing. “Knuckles isn’t _that_ bad of a sailor.”

“It is two changes of clothes for the lady,” Dorian said mildly, indicating Evelyn, who frowned deeper in response, “a gift for our Captain, and a rather large something from Dagna.”

They hauled the trunk into the cabin Evelyn had previously shared with Cullen. Two more bunks had been brought in, and Dorian & Varric were depositing their things. Varric was pleased to be out of the crew cabin. Upon opening, Evelyn found her black armor, carefully wrapped and packed to minimize the space it would take in her packs, as well as an extra shift and a simple linen dress. “For subterfuge or other sneaky purposes, I would assume,” Dorian sniffed.

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Its something to wear while I’m cleaning my armor.”

Dorian cocked his head. “How very practical.”

The gift for Isabela turned out to be a set of Inquisition flags, as well as a writ for Evelyn to sign authorizing the privateer to operate under the Inquisition colors. Isabela was thrilled. “This is a free ticket out of jail, in some places,” she said, hands trembling on the sailcloth. Evelyn only hesitated a moment before signing the writ and handing it to the Captain, who immediately left to stash the waxed paper in her sea chest.

In the bottom, the gifts from Dagna included new sets of saddlebags for each of them, enchanted to somehow be bigger on the inside. Evelyn easily packed everything from her old saddlebags and the pack into the new bags. She, Dorian, and Varric dropped their old saddlebags into the trunk when it was empty. The only other thing inside was a set of dragonbone and obsidian double-bladed daggers to match the ones Evelyn had brought with her – spares – and oddly, a similarly made long sword and dragonscale shield bearing no device. Evelyn attached this weaponry to her saddlebags, rolling up her pack and tucking it inside, grateful for the extra space. What little they decided not to take with them was locked in the trunk, which Isabela agreed to leave in Denerim when she took Evelyn’s message to the King.

 

_Rosebud,_

_Curly and Sparkler switched places without incident. Sparkler is not pleased about the route I have chosen to our destination, but he agrees it is the fastest option. The Princeling responded exactly as we assumed he would. The Admiral has offered to bring you this letter, as well as some of our extraneous belongings. If you could hold it against our homecoming, I would appreciate it. As much as it will drive Curly to distraction, my current intention is to visit you before returning home, once all is said and done._

_We received a care package from home, and so are beginning the trip very well equipped._

_I have little to report but to assure you we are well, and progressing with all due haste._

_I hope you decide to go through with the gift you mentioned to Curly; he would be the best daddy in the world to any little blessing you gave him._

_Knuckles_

 

“Did you just ask the King of Ferelden to impregnate your husband?” Dorian asked as he read over her shoulder.

Evelyn laughed helplessly. “Is that what it sounds like?”

“Its gibberish. Absolute gibberish. What does any of that mean?”

“The part you seem to be caught up on is actually in reference to a mabari Alistair offered to give Cullen.”

“Alistair? Are you on a first name basis with the King of the DogMen?”

Maker’s breath, she missed this man. “Yes, Dorian, I call him Alistair and he calls me Evelyn. Even a King needs friends.”

“Oh, but darling, the _smell_.”

Evelyn laughed harder. “Dorian, I _married_ a Fereldan. I’m doomed to a lifetime of wet dog smell.”

“Maker save you, friend. You are far braver than I.”

“Did you want to critique my letter to Leliana as well?”

“Oh, I would love to.”

 

_Nightingale,_

_Sparkler is reading over my shoulder. He did not approve of my missive to Rosebud, so he is critiquing my words to you._

_Curly left me, as you anticipated. When I wrote Rosebud, I encouraged the gift that was promised. Any such bundle of joy would find a perfect father in Curly._

_I made many new friends when I met up with Princeling. (Sparkler insists he is a Prince_ ling _and not merely a Prince)_

_Somehow you knew about those friends, and sent a very colorful gift. You never cease to amaze me. That gift was signed, sealed, and delivered; accepted most gratefully. I can only hope it serves its purpose without costing us too dearly,_

_The world’s second cutest dwarf sent me a gift, and I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t want to hurt her feelings by admitting I don’t know what it is, so I’ll carry it along with me until I figure out some way to use it. Please thank her for me, and say it more gracefully than I did here._

_It’s only been a handful of hours since I last saw Curly, and this letter will likely arrive long before he does. Please pass along those sentiments you know he needs to hear… and tell him I promise to be a diligent scholar. His scheme for our reunion needs to be vetted by Ruffles post haste. He will fill your ears, I am sure._

_All my love_

_Knuckles_

 

“That almost makes sense in places,” Dorian said as she finished. “Its like talking to Sera.”

“If somebody gets both of these, they’ll be even more confused than if they just read one,” Evelyn explained gently. “It only seems obtuse because you’re not used to the way we’re assuming the other knows what’s happening. It doesn’t work well with completely unexpected news, unless you can think of a way to reference it.”

“Like what Moira sent to Alistair.”

“Precisely.”

“It would be so much simpler if you would just say what you mean and enchant the paper with an exploding rune.”

“A what?”  
“An exploding rune. Explodes when read. Guarantees the message is only read by the person you mean to have see it.”

“That’s… terrifying, Sparkler. Utterly fucking terrifying,” Varric commented, listening from nearby.

“I don’t think our Spymaster would like it if that sort of thing caught on,” Evelyn agreed.

“Ha! It would make her job a infinitely more interesting. Who is the world’s cutest dwarf?”

“Harding,” Varric and Evelyn responded simultaneously.

“Ah, but of course.”

There were some of Leliana’s scouts in Jader – because of course there were, they were everywhere – and it was no matter to get the letters sent to Skyhold and Denerim.

It was a short trip to Cumberland from Jader, but it was long enough for Evelyn to slowly come to the dawning realization that the trunk they’d brought on board with Dorian was far too heavy for the supplies that had been in it.

“She enchanted the _trunk_ ,” Evelyn whispered, awestruck, when she dug it out of the hold. Like the saddlebags, it was bigger on the inside. This was hidden by a false bottom. The _real_   bottom of the truck was full, several layers deep, of gold sovereigns.

“Maker’s aching hemorrhoid,” Varric breathed.

“I will give you three times that much gold if you let me keep the trunk,” Isabela was saying quickly. “Four times.”

“Keep it,” Evelyn answered. “And keep whatever gold we can’t spend in Cumberland.”

“Oh you _watch me_ spend that,” Dorian said, letting the coins spill through his fingers.

“Do you know how much a chest like that is worth?”

“No,” Evelyn admitted. “But now you know why we’ll defend that little arcanist with our lives.”

”She _made_ this?”

Evelyn nodded. “Not a word, Rivaini,” Varric warned. “The arcanist has a tendancy to blow people up. It’s bad intel to sell.”  
Isabela shook her head. “What else could she do this to? Is there a limit?”

“What, you want her to enchant your ship?”

Isabela looked at him, expressionless.

“You want her to enchant your ship. Andraste’s ass, of course you do.”

“I can make you no promises, Isabela. I don’t know how she does it. But if you want to write her, that’s your choice.”

The Captain was striding to her cabin to write the letter before Evelyn finished the sentence.

“I’ve got to find something to keep Dagna’s interest. Fast. If she thinks she can start enchanting ships she’ll move to the coast in a heartbeat.”

 

*

 

They ended up spending fully half the money in the chest. They bought a mount and a remount apiece, even finding two Tevinter show horses for Varric; they were almost as short as ponies, but with a liquid smooth gait and the speed and stamina of a horse. Evelyn and Dorian bought matching chargers; or rather, Dorian bought them matching chargers, making sure their saddles and tack matched as well.

“Come on, you’ve got to have a little fun with it,” he said, winking at Evelyn. She wisely said nothing.

Their extra mounts were fitted with their old saddlebags, which were in turn filled with extra waterskins and as much nonperishable food as they could buy. Sacks of oats to supplement the grazing they might find for the horses were strapped on in place of saddles.

They each filled their coin purses with gold, and then left the rest – an ample amount – as payment for Isabela.

“A Queen’s ransom,” Isabela said reverently.

“Actually, that gives me an idea,” Evelyn said, and drew the Rivaini into the Captain’s cabin, shutting the door. When they emerged an hour later, Isabela was grinning widely. “I sincerely hope that comes to pass,” she said to Evelyn, and with a clasp of hands the Inquisitor and her companions were off.


	7. Into Tevinter

It should have been dangerous.

It should have been a white-knuckle ride for their lives.

It should have been a hard battle through an impenetrable gate.

And since it wasn’t, it didn’t feel like old times.

It felt like three friends out for a weeklong pleasure ride up the Imperial highway into Nevarra.

Brother Genitivi wrote of the trouble he had crossing into Nevarra from Orlais, but maybe their party composition granted them easier access; a Free Marcher, a surface dwarf, and a Tevinter weren’t the kind of people you encountered on a normal day.

But more likely it was Dorian, casually saying to the border guard that he was returning to Minrathous, and the two rogues were his personal bodyguards.

Regardless of how they crossed the border, it was done with so little incident as to make Evelyn a little disappointed.

There was a thriving little town where the Imperial Highway crossed the Minanter River, and Evelyn found a company that ran a messenger route to Val Royeaux. They bought a room for the night – the three of them long since becoming comfortable in close quarters – and Evelyn took some time writing up a bundle of letters to be taken to the Grand Cathedral. Cassandra – whom Evelyn just couldn’t train herself to call Victoria – had given her a Chantry seal to use if she needed to send correspondence to her. It wasn’t how it was meant to be used, but she knew the former Seeker would approve.

 

_My beloved battle-sister,_

_I cannot fathom how to go about calling you by a different name. I seek your guidance!_

_That is probably far funnier to me than it is to you._

_That said, I am on the sort of mission you would expect me to stumble into. When I’m next in Val Royeaux I will tell you all of it, and then you won’t be surprised when it shows up in a novel._

_I am shamelessly using you to pass information along to our mutual friend. If you could see that the enclosed letter gets to her hands, I will owe you a big fat favor. A bigger one than I’m sure I already owe you but have somehow forgotten._

_Be well._

_Nightingale,_

_I am enclosing a letter for you to send on to Rosebud. While I’m sure you would send him the appropriate information based on whatever I sent you, it will do him good to see this in my own hand._

_We have crossed the border into the Seeker’s realm. It was done wholly without incident and honestly I’m rather disappointed. We are experiencing no difficulties with our chosen path and we will likely maintain our current course for the foreseeable future._

_I realized – a stupid amount of time longer than it should have taken me, to be honest – that the world’s second cutest dwarf had left us an even bigger surprise. I left it with your lady from the Pearl who, by the way, indicated there was a damn sight_ _more to that story than you ever implied._

_I will write again when I next believe myself to have a reliable messenger. Tell Curly I rolled my eyes as I wrote that._

_Knuckles_

_C,_

_I have already devoured your gift. I am now reading through it randomly, opening the book to whatever page it decides to give me. My companions are considerate of my plight, and if they see that tome in my hands they kindly turn away._

_I know we have been apart for far longer than this, but I am further from you than I have ever been in my life. Even before I knew of your existence, you were physically nearer to me than you are now._

_I have sunk back into my mantra from the war: finish this and go home._

_As much as I suffer in your absence, I must admit to having a lot of fun on the road. The more I think on it, the more I love your suggestion for my return._

_E_

_Rosebud,_

_I am confident the Nightingale will sing you a more complete song than what my meager words can paint._

_But I wanted to give you solace in knowing I continue your quest._

_I am rather precisely dating the time of this writing; future messages will likely longer to arrive._

_My best,_

_Knuckles_

 

The note within a note within a note was a bulky and unwieldy bundle, but the fat wax Chantry seal gave Evelyn hope that it would reach its target unopened. That it was addressed to Divine Victoria herself might help. The messenger ogled the address and seal for several long moments before agreeing to carry it, and an extra sovereign encouraged his discretion. Evelyn supposed she might not know until she got home whether the messages were delivered. It was the best she could do.

They saw very little of Nevarra from the highway; the major cities were along the river, forsaking the land route. They weren’t eager to mix with the locals, either, stopping in taverns or inns only when the weather wasn’t conducive to making a simple camp.

The days were running together by the time they crossed into Tevinter. Evelyn had no good concept of precisely what day it was, trusting to Varric to keep track of the passage of time. They followed the Imperial Highway to the Northwest, stopping for the first time in a major city when they came to Vol Dorma.

“If we kept heading north,” Dorian said lightly, “we could be in Minrathous by the end of the week.”

“Maybe when we come back through, we’ll go that way and take ship?”

Dorian shuddered. “That is an awful long time spend on a boat, Evelyn.”

“I’m not _that_ bad of a sailor, Dorian.”

They spent one night in Vol Dorma, just long enough to luxuriate in a Tevinter bath and rinse the weeks of road dust out of her hair.

“I rest my point,” Dorian said from his cask of bathwater.

“I will never argue with you again,” Evelyn said, sinking down to her ears.

They left the Imperial Highway, heading west to Weisshaupt and crossing into the Anderfels. It was only two days from Vol Dorma to the Grey Warden fortress, but they were two of the longest days of Evelyn’s life.


	8. Weisshaupt

“Andraste’s roasting bunions, there’s got to be a thousand Wardens on this fucking road,” she swore in frustration.

“What? Around their own fortress? Surely not.”

“Sparkler’s got a point. You _did_ exile all the Orlesian Wardens. They had to go somewhere.”

“Right. Hundreds of Wardens who all know me on sight and utterly revile me. Great. Thanks for that reminder.”

“Well… they might not know you on sight. You’re not wearing your signature armor, and your left hand lost that lovely green glow. So its possible you might not be _immediately_ recognized.”

“Shut up, Dorian,” she gritted.

They stayed off the road as much as possible until they got closer to Weisshaupt itself. There was a steady stream of traffic into and out of the fortress; the sudden influx of Wardens from Orlais had necessitated a burst of expansion, and there were laborers and materials coming in along with supplies, merchants, and messengers. No one seemed to be trying to track the traffic, and their small party entered the fortress unseen on the heels of a wagon full of masonry.

“Dorian, stay with the horses. We won’t stay long.”

He didn’t like it, but he didn’t argue. Evelyn knew she would hear about it later.

“Keep your eyes open, Varric. Tell me if you see her. She might be here in disguise.”

“How the hell am I supposed to recognize her?”

Evelyn missed a step. “I thought you knew what she looked like?”

“Who told you that?”

“Isabela mentioned you’d travelled with Alistair. I figured you’d at least _seen_ his wife.”

“Well, you figured wrong. She was taking care of the country while we gallivanted around, and it was he who picked me up in Kirkwall. I never set foot in Denerim.”

“Well, shit.”

They walked the halls for hours, trying to keep their steps purposeful and keep their searching from seeming obvious. They were back in the main hall when Varric suddenly hissed and drew Evelyn behind a pillar. She tried to make out what he was saying, but it was just a litany of nonsense swears.

“Were you seen? Who saw you?”

“Nobody saw me. But that son of a bitch is supposed to be _dead_.”

Evelyn stood facing Varric, smiling like they were having an easy conversation, and risked a glance where he had indicated.

Varric rasped the description. “Blond. Mage. Pale. Wrists in irons.”

“Yup, noted.”

“Anders.”

It was a sudden war to keep the reaction off her face. “No way.”

“Your guess is as good as mine, but I’d recognize Blondie anywhere. He doesn’t even look worse for wear, given he’s dead.”

“He looks about the opposite of dead,” she said, laughing as if Varric had said something funny.

“I didn’t get a good look. Who’s he with?

“Looks like a Templar. Former-Templar Warden? Not sure. He’s wearing a griffon tabard but holding his shield like… my husband does.”

“Good save. We should avoid all names from here out. No way to know who might overhear.”

“Agreed.”

“Anybody else?”

“Warden. Female. Brunette. …Fereldan? Maybe? Hard to see. A bit older than me. High ranking.”

Varric risked a glance around the pillar. “Our target? Might be safe to circle around. Keep half an eye on Blondie, make sure he doesn’t notice me.”

It was terrifying for Evelyn. There were potentially hundreds of Wardens around her who had reason to hate her, and every one of them was likely as good in a fight as she or Varric. And while they may or may not recognize Varric, or remember he was one of her companions, the blond man in irons definitely would. She kept their conversation light, and focused on walking in a relaxed saunter while she kept Anders in her peripheral vision. They got around him and into a mostly-empty antechamber, and Varric sagged in relief for an instant before straightening and finding a corner to listen from.

“I understand, Commander,” Varric heard when he finally isolated the voice of Anders from the crowd noise. “I do not require irons. If there is only one person you do not have to explain Justice to, it is me.”

“The irons aren’t for your benefit, Anders. It is for everyone else. The ones who don’t care that you blew up the Chantry still care that you’re arguably an abomination.”

“Which is why you have Ser Cannic following me. I understand. I am not arguing. Merely asking you to be reasonable. I have agreed to stay here, agreed to every one of your terms. I am merely requesting I lose the manacles for a few hours a day, before the skin sloughs off my arms.”

The woman – the Commander – sighed. “Your opinion, Ser Cannic?”

“I am afraid I agree with Anders, Moira. If he decides to cause trouble the shackles won’t accomplish anything.”

Varric slapped Evelyn excitedly in the gut as they listened. Evelyn slid away from the corner and crossed the room to where several large sheets of thin paper were discarded on the floor. Likely they had been placed between layers of stone to keep the fine marble from scuffing in transit, but now they were forgotten. Quickly, Evelyn gathered several scraps and started twisting them together, drawing her belt-knife to trim the paper as she worked. Moira was striding away then, Anders and Ser Cannic disappearing into the crowd in the opposite direction. Evelyn trusted Varric to follow the Warden Commander at a reasonable distance, keeping her eyes to her work and dumbly following along in the dwarf’s wake.

They went up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway before the Warden disappeared around a corner. After a pause, Varric peeked around the corner, and was grabbed by the collar of his coat and dragged out of Evelyn’s sight.

Evelyn quickly turned the corner and saw the Warden Commander with a knife to Varric’s throat, barely visible in the shadows of the empty hallway.

“Why do you follow me?” the woman hissed.

With a flourish, Evelyn produced the rose she had been twisting out of paper. Varric snorted, an admirable show of courage in the face of the Hero of Ferelden’s ire.

“My weapon of choice,” Evelyn said lightly, bowing over the rose. “I shall vanquish my foes with the power of floral arrangements.”

The woman dropped her knife quickly and released Varric. The dwarf edged away slightly, but stayed deeply in the shadows. Evelyn took a half-step and joined them. Anyone who rounded the corner would see them, but any other traffic in the corridor would miss them completely.

“I believe I am here in an answer to your summons,” Evelyn said softly. “But since we have not met previously I desperately hope I have not misidentified you.”

“I am not here in secret,” the woman said in an equally soft tone. “I am the Warden Commander of Ferelden, Moira Cousland Theirin.”

Evelyn breathed a deep sigh. “You did not chase me from the shaperate, but I hope I may serve.”

Moira’s shoulder relaxed as she put away her blade. “Come, we can speak in my quarters.”

“I left my third with our horses in the courtyard. Tevinter, likely aggravated. Great big staff on his back.”

“I’ll have him brought up and your horses stabled, in secret. Anything else I should know?”

Varric snorted again, and Evelyn scowled at him. “Yes… there are a lot of people here who aren’t fond of me.”

Moira cocked an eyebrow at her, but otherwise did not respond. “We were taking the back way regardless. Follow.”

Evelyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d been given an order; Varric seemed tickled by the same idea.  With an eyeroll, they fell into step behind the Queen of Ferelden.

Twenty minutes later, Dorian was laying a square stone with a golden rune etched into it on the table the four of them sat around.  “Zone of silence,” he said happily. “With your permission, of course.”

Moira made a permissive gesture, and Dorian energized the rune. Evelyn leaned back with a sigh. “Thank the Maker.”

“Before I tell you anything, you must tell me everything,” Moira said calmly in a tone that brokered no argument. “I have no way of knowing my missive was not intercepted.”

“Okay, first, only Alistair or Leliana could have figured that out, so if it was intercepted nobody would have come here. And second, since they were _both_ in the room with me when I was told about it, the chances of either of them telling anybody else is about zero.”

Moira went still. “Who are you?”

Dorian spoke up cheerfully. “Your Majesty, I am pleased to introduce the lady Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan Rutherford, Herald of Andraste.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “You forgot, recently voted Most Hated Woman by the Orlesian Wardens.”

Moira leaned back, surprised. “Your hand isn’t glowing.”

“Stopped when I blew up Corypheus and sealed the Breach. You know, the whole saving-the-world bit. I’ve got the scar if you want to see it.” She turned her left hand over, exposing the jagged line across her palm.

The warden laughed suddenly, a dry rasp of a sound that she seemed unaccustomed to. “Yeah. I know how the saving-the-world bit goes. Why are _you_ here? How did he convince you to come?”

“It was my own fault, really,” Evelyn drawled, grasping a goblet of fine Tevinter wine and swirling it in her hand lazily. “I decided I wanted to be a bit of an ass and brag to Alistair that once _I_ saved the world, I didn’t have a country to run and could relax for a bit. So I wrote him and said as much. He apparently did some digging and discovered my illustrious past, and when your cryptic message arrived, he decided I was his best bet. That, and since you so kindly wrote to us a few months back, he didn’t have to tell me what precisely you were looking for. I already knew it was important. Lines of succession being what they are.”

“Andraste’s…” she started to swear. “Sorry. Forgot. Religious leader and whatnot.”

“I’ve been favoring ‘Andraste’s boiling eyeballs’ of late, if you need advice on how to swear around me.”

Moira barked another laugh. “And suddenly I know why you’re on a first name basis with Alistair.”

“Well, a lot of that had to do with Lana.”

Moira went still again, the trait of a woman who spent much of her time hiding.

“’Tis only fair,” Evelyn said gently, risking a stern look at Dorian and Varric, who seemed a bit too eager for gossip. “…if we’re having a moment of full disclosure, you should know how much I know.”

“A lot, I take it?” Moira whispered.

“Leliana is one of my dearest friends. The only secrets she shares with me are her own.”

Moira seemed to consider that turn of phrase for a long while, taking a couple of small sips of wine. “Fair enough,” she said at last. “One last question, then. Which one of you is my thief?” She was looking expectantly at Varric.

Evelyn cleared her throat. “That would be me, actually.” Moira’s eyebrows climbed to her hairline. “I am being rude, forgive me. This is Dorian Pavus, lately of Minrathous.”

“Lately of Skyhold, if we’re being honest,” Dorian said by way of reply, inclining his head to the Queen.

“And Varric Tethras, who probably needs no other introduction.”

Moira’s eyes lit up. “No!”

Varric grinned. “The one and only.”

“You traveled with Alistair,” she said with a wide smile. “I am so glad to meet you finally.”

“And Isabela, as you know. The pleasure is all mine.”

“Which leaves me, your Majesty,” Evelyn continued lightly. “Before I was framed for the death of the Divine, I was a thief being punished by her father by being sent on a diplomatic mission to the Conclave. I think he was sick of bailing me out of jail in Ostwick. While I have spent most of the last year or two building the Inquisition and killing ancient Magisters-turned-darkspawn, I promise you I have kept up with my lock picking skills.”

The smile on Moira’s face slowly spread until it was an open grin. It melted years off of her, allowing her blue eyes to sparkle.

“So, your Majesty. What do you need me to steal?”

“Call me Moira,” she said, and leaned back to tell her story.


	9. Moira's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short one.  
> Transcript of what Moira tells Varric, Dorian, and the Inq in Weisshaupt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> such spoilers. much story. many names. wow.

You know why I left Ferelden – to find a cure for the Calling. And after what I heard happened at Adamant, I know I don’t have to tell you what the Calling is.

What you might not know is that the bit of the Blight – the taint – we ingest to become Wardens also renders us infertile. Alistair and I had hoped we might conceive quickly, but it was not to be. The bloodline of Calenhad ends with Alistair if he is unable to father a child, so there is more riding on my quest than just a desire to prolong my life. As Queen, I have to protect Ferelden. There is no easy choice for heir, not unless the King fathers a child. And of course I would prefer he do so with me.

High Enchanter Fiona was once a Warden. She had somehow _lost_ her connection to the Blight, and was removed from the order. Alistair and I wrote to her time and again, but never received a response.

So I left to track her down. Once the Circles fell I knew she would be at the head of the rebellion, although that was hard to track. I had just arrived in Redcliffe when she signed on with the Imperium, and suddenly she was just gone. I had never seen a group of people vanish so completely. The look on your face tells me there is more to this story – please remind me to come back to that when I’ve told you the rest.

Alistair came to Redcliffe then, at the head of the army to remove the Magisters from the keep and restore Arl Teagan. But they were gone; he and I spoke briefly, and Teagan overheard our discussion.

It seems King Maric – who had been Teagan’s brother-in-law – had once mentioned the Calling. Teagan could only barely remember it, it was some conversation Maric had with Teagan’s brother Eamon, explaining why he had been away. Teagan did some digging through some of Eamon’s old letters and found a letter from Maric apologizing for frightening the family, and how he’d been helping a team of Wardens and wanted to bring one with him when he came to visit Redcliffe. Teagan said that visit was when he’d brought Alistair to Redcliffe and introduced them all to Duncan.

None of that made sense; Alistair’s mother was supposed to have been a serving girl in Redcliffe, but from the letter and Teagan’s memories, Maric hadn’t been anywhere near Redcliffe for years before Alistair was born.

Alistair was upset… knowing Duncan had brought Alistair to Redcliffe with Maric just brought back the old heartbreak from when Duncan died at Cailan’s side. Alistair went back to Denerim and started pouring through any records he could find from Maric’s reign. There was no mention at all, anywhere, of what Maric had been up to with the Wardens. However, Alistair did find that Teryn Loghain had been named Cailan’s regent for a period of weeks in 9:9 Dragon… a bit more than a year before Alistair was brought to Redcliffe as a baby.

Alistair sent me what he’d found, as I was still in Redcliffe trying to help Teagan put things back together and looking for a lead on Fiona, whom I am starting to think was lost when Corypheus sent the mages against Haven. Your face tells me I’m right, and for that I am very sorry indeed.

So without any other options, I decided I needed to come to Weisshaupt and search the records here. Every Warden has records, starting with their Joining. But that’s not the kind of thing a Commander comes to Weisshaupt for; I should send someone rather than waste the time it would take to come myself, time better spent recruiting and training my wardens. I would be sent away and censured as soon as I arrived.

…Which is why I detoured to Val Royeaux and stole Anders from the Chantry prison. He was my responsibility, I recruited him, I oversaw his Joining. I could absolutely justify the trip to Weisshaupt if I was bringing Anders to justice. Pun not intended, I suppose.

When I got here, it wasn’t hard to justify asking for Duncan’s records – I was upset over a Warden I’d recruited, which naturally made me think of the Warden who had recruited me. I asked for Riordan’s, as well, to make sure he was credited with slaying the archdemon. There were some conflicting reports on that, and I saw to it they were straightened out.

Fiona’s records were almost impossible to find. I ended up sneaking into the library in the middle of the night and swapping her file for an empty duplicate. Most of the time I’ve been away was spent figuring out how to get my hands on that damn tome.

And it was worth it. Duncan’s file told me a partial story, and Fiona’s explained the rest of it,

Fiona’s file included a deposition about what she had seen in the Deep Roads, what had happened to the rest of their party, and mentions a particular darkspawn I personally killed in Amaranthine. It is far too complicated to explain here, and should be kept within the Order besides.

The fuck… how do you know that, Varric? Fucking Anders. Fine, yes, they encountered the Architect. Tell them what you know later, I’m not going into it.

The long and short of it is, First Enchanter Remille, of the Ferelden Circle, made these ebon brooches that the Wardens wore with them on that Deep Road expedition. Oddly, Maric wore one as well. It seems those brooches _amplified_   the Calling, causing the Wardens to fall to it far faster than normal. Duncan had found a similar black dagger – while his record didn’t state _how_ he found it, I’m fairly certain he stole it from the First Enchanter’s quarters, Bless him – and it seemed to have the opposite effect.

Somehow, wearing that brooch destroyed Fiona’s connection to the Blight. And, for some other unknown reason, the black dagger cancelled out the effect of the brooch. Duncan didn’t experience the Calling in the Deep Roads like the other Wardens on the expedition, but Alistair was sure he was starting to hear it at the beginning of the Blight. I… never got the chance to talk to him about it. He died the day after my Joining.


	10. The Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Evelyn lives up to the name Thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the longer ones.

Moira paused for a long moment after mentioning Duncan’s death. The story went that all the Wardens in Ferelden died at Ostagar – all of them but Moira and Alistair. Evelyn couldn’t imagine what had happened at Ostagar, but the memory couldn’t be a good one.

“In the vault room are five of those brooches.. Duncan’s, Fiona’s, and Maric’s, and two other members of their party. There is also the black knife. The absolute minimum we need to steal from the vault is one of the brooches. The ideal is all of the brooches, and the knife. I can draw you a rough map of the vault room and its location in the fortress. They’re watching me, though; I can’t go anywhere near there. I didn’t know it then, but asking for Fiona’s records tipped my hand. We cannot be seen together again inside Weisshaupt. As soon as you have the brooches, leave. I will follow when I am able.”

“No, you need to leave with us, if not before,” Evelyn spoke up for the first time. “If you’re being watched, so are the brooches. As soon as they vanish, you will be suspected. I doubt they will care whether you have them on your not. It would likely be best for you to leave _before_ the brooches go missing. Hopefully they will relax their watch.”

Varric nodded his agreement. Moira considered it before slowly nodding her head. “Alright, Your Worship. This is your lead now. What do you want us to do?”

Evelyn couldn’t hide the little shiver that rolled down her spine. What would Cadash think if he knew the skills he taught her would put her in command – however temporarily – of the Hero of Ferelden?

“Well, first, she’s going to want your autograph,” Varric said dryly.

Evelyn blushed, but Moira laughed happily. “I’ll give you mine if you’ll give me yours, Inquisitor.”

“Deal,” Evelyn grinned, and the two women shook on it. Varric had that same look he got when Evelyn and Hawke were getting along, like a kid in a candy store. Evelyn wondered how many of _his_ fantasies revolved around merely being present when other people were making deals.

“Moira, you leave Weisshaupt with Varric and Dorian. Doesn’t really matter what the story is; Varric is a known associate of Anders as well as myself, and he left the Inquisition months ago to return to Kirkwall. You are going to need to take all of my stuff with you, too… including my horses. I’ll make my visit to the vault and do my best to head north. Wait for me for seven days; that will get me time to let the watch fade and make my way to you. If we don’t find one another, head for Minrathous. They’ll expect Moira to follow the Imperial Highway back to Nevarra, just like we did coming up. We can take ship in Minrathous and be halfway back home before they’ve figured out where we’ve gone.”

“Where will you know where to meet us in Minrathous?”

Dorian sighed. “Oh, she’ll know. House Pavus is easy to spot.”

 

*

 

It could have been worse.

The vault was heavily guarded, with the steady flow of travelers through Weisshaupt, but it wasn’t the worst watch Evelyn had evaded… and she’d had some practice since then.

The map Moira gave her had been committed to memory and then burned to ashes in the hearth. She was dressed in her assassin blacks, cloakless, daggers tight in their sheathes. She wasn’t planning on killing anybody. Her hair was full of soot and her face and hands darkened with a black chalk Dagna had dreamed up for her, simultaneously helping her hide and helping her grip.

Her left hand had recovered most of its strength in the months since the anchor disappeared like Corypheus into the Fade. She still favored that side just a bit too much; rebuilding trust takes longer than rebuilding muscle. She was glad she wasn’t burning through dagger grips anymore, though.

Moira left with a bang, drawing every eye in the fortress as she denounced Anders on the front steps and declared his fate out of her hands. With every bit of royalty she could muster, she swept out of Weisshaupt and demanded a horse and remount for her long ride back to Amaranthine, the Arling Ferelden had bequeathed to the Wardens. A porter carried her bags and saddled the horses, and she rode out to the east without another word.

Dorian and Varric had left long before her and scouted a nicely hidden location for their campsite. The found a hollow between two boulders, just below the top of a rise almost due North of Weisshaupt. Varric could crawl to the top of one of the boulders and see almost every direction from their camp with little risk of being seen as long as he laid flat. The hollow itself was invisible unless you were on said boulder, which is how Varric found it in the first place: he climbed up for a better vantage and realized he’d found what he was looking for.

It took the better part of two days for Moira to enter and then leave Vol Dorma, and circle around so she was sure she wasn’t seen. Once Varric saw her approach, Dorian quickly rode to meet her and brought her back to their camp. They all immediately agreed they would wait far more than seven days if need be; it would take Evelyn twice as long to reach Minrathous than them regardless, so they could afford to give her a head start if it came to that. And so they waited.

Evelyn had found a lip of stone near the ceiling of one of the large halls in Weisshaupt, with just the right vantage point to monitor traffic in the short hallway that led to the vault room. Anyone looking up would have their eyes drawn to the light streaming in from the great windows in the hall, thus rendering Evelyn effectively invisible.

It was hours after Moira left before six Wardens trooped down the hall to the vault. They spent scarcely ten minutes inside, but the change in their stances as they left told Evelyn they were relieved to find their secrets yet safe inside. The guard was reduced down to a walking patrol, the two men constantly by the doors relieved of duty.

She still couldn’t go in the front door, but that had never been her plan.

She had to let the first night pass, the moonlight bright on mountain snow. The second night, the skies were overcast and threatening new snow; she wouldn't get a better chance. If the weather was cruel, she still won: either she would have snowfall to cover her escape or new snow to hide her tracks.

The great windows in Weisshaupt were dwarven made – which meant there was a lever in the frame that allowed the moulding to be pulled free and the entire window removed to be repaired or replaced. When the hall emptied for the evening and the lamps burned low, Evelyn carefully peeled away the gluelike seal holding a window in place. There was a hinge hidden in one side, and the ponderous window swung open into the hall. Evelyn slid out, carefully pulling the window closed behind her. A few carefully placed shims would hold the window in place long enough for her to be on her way; likely no one would ever connect the loosened window to the theft, especially if the Warden leadership kept quiet about what was about to go missing.

The walls of the Warden stronghold were _not_   dwarven-made, if still very finely built. Dwarves would have cut the stone to fit together perfectly, leaving no seams. While these walls appeared smooth from the ground, they were mortared stone, and mortar inevitably wears away faster than stone. Weisshaupt was old enough that much of the exterior mortar – especially on the higher parts of the building – had huge gaps. More than enough for the grip of the thief Cadash trained.

On the great list of _things to fear_ , Evelyn was infinitely grateful _heights_ had been left off. Maybe it was that she spent so much time free climbing walls and escaping from her window in her father’s estate in Ostwick that the fear was replaced with a calm acceptance. Whatever the reason, Evelyn had no problem free-climbing the wall around the exterior of the building, deftly reaching a decorative ridge in the masonry and covering the distance to the vault room in seconds.

They weren’t really windows, precisely, but they were more than arrow slits. The map Moira had made indicated there was a narrow room between the vault and the exterior of the building, with windows to allow light and fresh air in for people using the vault. They were maybe eight inches wide, but that was more than enough; it hurt, but Evelyn could get through a space six inches wide.

It took some time to do it silently, but she finally slid through the narrow gap and crossed to the locked door leading into the vault. She pulled a pick out of the seam of her shirt and set to work on the door. No one would be stationed inside, not now that Moira had left, but she took pains to pick the lock silently. The door swung towards her and she was able to crack it open slowly, watching for any movement in the room.

The oil lamps were lit but low, so her shadow could fall across the crack at the bottom of the main door and give her away. Evelyn hugged the walls, ducking to keep below the level of the sconces so she wouldn’t cast a shadow.

Moira didn’t know exactly where the brooches were kept, but the room wasn’t large. More importantly, it wasn’t often cleaned. There was a thin layer of dust across most of the small chests and casks in the room, an inevitablility in a room lit with flame. Scanning the room, tilting her body gently to change the angle she viewed from, Evelyn noticed a small jeweled box near the door with fresh fingerprints.

She circled the room to it, not knowing when the patrolling guard might be able to see her shadow, and gently checked it for traps. None of the men who had come into the vault earlier had seemed to be mages, but it was possible there was a rune or other magical trap she couldn’t discern. The chances of the Wardens being willing to set a trap in their own locked vault seemed low; surely the rate of theft at Weisshaupt didn’t elicit that level of paranoia. Taking a calculated risk, Evelyn cracked the lid without shifting the box.

A dull gleam of black from inside sparked her hope. A further look showed the box contained several shiny black brooches, obsidian that seemed to swirl with flecks of red, and a remarkably similar black dagger. Careful not to shift the box itself, Evelyn reached inside and removed everything from within, including a small but overstuffed envelope of papers. All of it went into small pouches she had strapped around her forearms and ankles – her thinnest points, to keep them from being lost in a tight squeeze.

Following the path she’d already taken around the room, Evelyn returned to the door to the outer room, risking a bit of noise to scuffle her slight footprints into oblivion. She gently shut the door behind her, and took the time to relock it before beginning the slow process of squeezing out the window.

She was halfway out when she heard the main door to the vault being unlocked, voices on the other side coming suddenly closer as the door swung open. “…probably nothing, like you said. But the watch insisted they saw a shadow cross in front of one of the windows, and we’re supposed to double check."

Her hands on either side of the casement, she worked to pull her thighs through the window. She didn’t want to force a fall – a free climb down was far safer – but she was fairly sure she could survive the drop.  A glance down told her it was thirty feet, to the pavement. She’d done worse. The bigger problem would be evading the guard she would meet on the ground.

A rattle on the door to the room she was currently stuck fleeing made her heart leap into her throat. “Door’s locked,” the Warden on the other side said. “Everything looks to be in place.”

“I will return to the First, tell him everything is as it should be.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

Evelyn slid the rest of the way out of the window, turning lightly to keep the pouches her cargo were stored in from hitting the window sill. She climbed up from the window to the decorative line of stone that made such a convenient handhold, and focused on being invisible as she crept along the outside of the Warden fortress.

She was a shadow, nothing more. She was an unremarkable patch of darkness. She didn’t know how it worked, but all that mattered was that it did: as long as she focused, as long as she _believed_ she couldn’t be seen, she could not.

But someone had seen her enter the window. She couldn’t rely on stealth, she had to get out of there _fast_.

She concentrated on her steps, but opened her peripheral vision to the guards far below. The smoke from the torches they carried and the lamps lit near the doors help shroud her passing. No one was looking up – but it would only take one.

She reached the junction of a roofline and she flattened on it, pressing herself into a shadow and rested. She was close to the north end of the fortress – so close – and if she could get to the ground and away from the building she knew no one would ever catch her. Not Leliana, not Sera... if there were suddenly two of her,  _she_ couldn’t catch her.

She took a steadying breath. One thing at a time. Down the roof, following the line of the ridge. Under the windows, against the wall. Behind the gargoyle. Down the gutter. Thirty minutes to be sure she had the timing of the patrols perfect, until she was positive she knew their steps.

The gap appeared, and she took it. Fifteen paces, over the wall, three paces, up the stairs, four paces across the rampart, over the wall. She scraped the skin off her palms and fingers in her hurry to reach the bottom unseen, but she did. And then she was in the encampment, the Orlesian wardens who would all know her on sight.

Forty-five minutes to flit through the tents, sticking to the shadows in the places furthest from the fires. Backtracking when she had to. Ten minutes across the open expanse between the last tent and first bit of cover. Another five to the top of the ridgeline. Twenty grueling minutes to ease over the ridge on her belly. Fifteen paces down the other side to the relative safety of the trees.

Three paces inside the treeline, a sword left its scabbard.

She threw herself back a step, away from the sound, yanking free her daggers and dropping to a defensive stance. She hoped there was only one, but the chances of that were slim.

“State your business,” a gravelly voice rasped.

Shuffled footsteps. At least three of them. By the noise they were making, either unsure of her existence or raw recruits. So only the one was going to be trouble.

“Let me pass,” she answered, her voice low. The shuffling steps stopped; either stunned or hunting.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” the voice answered.

“I don’t intend to kill another warden.”

Silence.

“Even one is too many. I’ll need to take you in.”

“His name.” Evelyn said, taking a chance.

“His name? The man you killed?”

“Stroud.” She said, and stepped out of the darkness.

One in front had his sword drawn. Two others – barely more than children, recruits then – stood a few paces behind him, clearly terrified.

“Wrong name, stranger. We all know how Stroud died, and it wasn’t by the sword.”

“No. It was by command. My command.”

The sword point wavered, dropped. The warden – a Rivaini, it seemed, although it was hard to tell in the darkness – took a step back towards his charges. Evelyn reached up and tugged her hood back, letting the man see her face, remembering belatedly it was covered in black chalk.

“I sent a man here. He’d been one of my own. Called himself Blackwall, but that was a lie. His name is Thom Ranier. I know better than to write. But I wanted to know – needed to know – if he was accepted into the order. His debts are mine.”

The warden sheathed his sword. “I can’t tell you that.”

She nodded. “That’s why I didn’t write.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Warden Ranier survived his Joining. He was assigned to the Free Marches. But I didn’t tell you that.”

Evelyn gave him a short bow and sheathed her daggers. “How could you? I was never here.”

The warden bowed in return, and then pointedly turned his back on her, drawing his charges close. Evelyn tugged her hood back up over her chalk-blackened face and melted backwards into the trees. As she glided away, she heard the Rivaini warden explaining to the recruits why they could never speak of that moment in the woods to anyone.

Evelyn was more careful after that point, pained at having underestimated the wardens. Given her high opinion of them, the idea that she had _under_ estimated them was plain dreadful.

She’d lied to the man, she thought to herself as she fled through the night. She’d killed a damn sight more than just one warden. Adamant had been a blood bath, and while she’d focused on killing demons, the abominations she slew were all warden mages. The men who fell beneath her were warden rogues and warriors.

If she met one on an even field, free of the Calling and the horror of the demons pouring out of the rift, she liked to think she would at least hold her own. But that wasn’t how Evelyn fought; she was a thief, an assassin. Not for the first time, she deeply regretted the loss of Cassandra to the Sunburst Throne. The thought occupied her thoughts for the rest of the night and well into the next day.

She was hugging a treeline some miles north of Weisshaupt when a glint caught her eye. She slowed down to focus on it.

Crossbow bolt. Held onto the south side of a tree by a thick ball of ice. It had already melted significantly – the water running down the bark is what had caught her eye – but she could think of no one else who would leave such a message. She stepped to the bolt and sighted down the shaft; it seemed to be pointed at a pair of boulders at the top of a ridge to her east. She pulled the bolt out of its icy sheath and slipped deeper into the trees, coming out on the north side of the ridge, to use it to guard her silhouette from anyone who might be following from Weisshaupt.

She’d cleared half the distance from the treeline to the boulder when a whistling sound dropped her to her face on the ground. The _thwack_ of an arrow impacting with the ground drew her eyes up. Another crossbow bolt, six inches from her face. If she hadn’t dropped, it would have landed right in front of her.

She followed the trajectory. The boulders. She pulled the bolt out of the ground and broke into a run, clearing the distance to the boulders effortlessly. “Good show, darling,” Dorian crooned as she ducked into the hidden campsite. “Moira only beat you here by a couple hours.”

“Success?” the warrior Queen of Ferelden asked eagerly.

Evelyn grinned and started stripping the pouches from her armor. “Four brooches and a black dagger, m’lady,” the Inquisitor quipped with a flourish.

"Only four?"

Evelyn nodded. "I took them all, but there were only four. Also, this-" and dropped the envelope of papers into Moira's waiting hands.

“Great. Keep them the fuck away from me.”

Evelyn started to laugh. “Don’t want to start hearing the darkspawn sing?”

“I don’t know precise why you know that, but no. No I don’t.”

“She asked Stroud what the Calling was like, one night in camp,” Varric said sadly. “The way he described it, I could almost  hear it.”

“Did you get the box they were stored in?”

“No, I left that. And a good thing I did, because they came in to check on it before I got all the way out. If I’d snagged the box I’d been caught for sure.”

“Shit. Okay. Just don’t let them touch you. Bury them as deep in your pack as you can. And when we get to Minrathous, we’ll get a lead cask to seal them in for the journey.”

“We should follow Dorian’s lead from here on,” Evelyn said, ignoring the Tevinter’s protest. “It’s his homeland, he’ll have the best idea of how we can avoid trouble. And, besides, didn’t you always want me to see Tevinter?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “For starters, you can get out of that beastly get up.”

Evelyn laughed and reached for her packs to change back into the brown armor she wore to travel in, trusting the nondescript leather to hide her identity.

“I’m next to worthless until you can get me to an armorer,” Moira said as Evelyn changed and they readied the horses to leave. “I left my good sword and shield at home, thinking to travel anonymously. The borrowed shield I found was wrecked by the time I got here, and the sword isn’t worth the steel its made of. But I might be biased.”

Evelyn exchanged a long look with Dorian and Varric before digging out the sword and shield they had found in the chest Dorian brought with him to Jader.

“Maker’s breath, where did you get this?”

“I think Leliana sent it. Dagna must have made it for you.”

“Dagna? My Dagna? Smith caste dwarf who went to the Circle of Ferelden to study?”

“The very same. Calls herself an Arcanist now.”

Moira beamed at them before swinging the shield onto her back and belting the sword to her waist. She nodded at Evelyn’s daggers. “I take it you know how to use those.”

Varric smirked. “I only hope you don’t have to see it.”

“If it comes to that,” Evelyn said, repacking her assassin blacks and hurrying to catch up to the others’ state of readiness, “Varric and Dorian will likely stick together and set the pace for us. I should warn you, Dorian’s a necromancer.”

Moira shrugged. “The Wardens take all kinds.”

“All you have to do,” Evelyn continued, “is keep the attention of whatever is coming after us, and keep them off Varric and Dorian.”

Moira shrugged. “Easy enough. During the Blight, that was Alistair’s job, while I ran around and cut things to bits.”

Evelyn grinned. “Well then, you’ve graduated to Alistair and I’ll fill the role of Moira.”

Moira laughed. “Lets hope we don’t need that plan, then.”


	11. Flight

“We could have taken ship from Marnas Pell,” Dorian complained, not for the first time.

“That is what they would expect us to do,” Evelyn replied, feeling like an echo.

“Why don’t you want to go to Minrathous, Sparkler?” Moira asked, earning a chuckle from Varric.

“Because I don’t think I’ll be able to leave,” he retorted, and shocked Evelyn and Varric silent.

“Won’t be able to leave,” the Warden prodded gently, ‘or won’t want to leave?”

“Yes. No. I’m not sure.” Dorian shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Since we met with my father in Redcliffe, I have been torn over whether or not to return to Minrathous. I believe there is much that could be done to improve Tevinter; the Herald had led me to believe that these changes can even be made by a single person. Whether or not I am that person has yet to be seen. But I won’t know unless I try, unless I go and make the effort. The question isn’t whether I should return to Minrathous – it is inevitable. The question was whether I should go _now_ , whether I should wait for an opening or try to create one.”

“We won’t be stopped there for long,” Evelyn offered gently. “We could completely avoid seeing anyone, and just make straight for the docks. Nobody will make you stay.”

Dorian merely shook his head.

In the end, Dorian didn’t get the opportunity to make the decision. A young man met them as they came within view of Minrathous, obviously uncomfortable on his horse.

“Greetings, Knuckles,” he said as they drew near, and Evelyn laughed. “You’re early!” she called to him.

“You’re late,” he replied, and gestured for them to follow.

Evelyn only got the quickest view of the capital of Tevinter. She was left with a fleeting impression of white marble, sweeping archways, and open courtyards. The city smelled of fruit and flowers, sweet incense and summer sun. Even the docks smelled better than most seaports, as the Imperium didn’t permit sewage being dumped into the water.

Dorian seemed disappointed as the rode right down to Isabela’s familiar ship, the Rivaini swinging lightly from the near rail.

“You’re late!” She called down to them, laughing. The man sent to fetch them was one of her crew, if not one Varric or Dorian remembered.

“Got room for some horses?” Evelyn called back.

“Ugh, I suppose. It will cost you extra!”

Dorian, who was obviously disconcerted by the quickness of their passage through the home he hadn’t seen in years, was cheered by the idea of keeping the mounts.

“Maker knows I don’t need them,” Evelyn said wryly. “But you and Varric are welcome to them if you’d like.”

“Mine needs to be returned to Weisshaupt,” Moira was telling the messenger. “Look for a stable with a griffon under the sign, they’ll keep them for you no questions. There should be one close by.”

As he ran off with his horse and both of Moira’s, the remaining six were led on board while the four of them crammed into the guest cabin near Isabela’s.

“I feel like I should offer you mine, Commander,” Isabela said gently to the Queen.

Moira scoffed. “First, you can call me by name. I’ve known you far too long – and too well – for this title bullshit. And you did my husband a massive favor, regardless of how much he paid you. Second, I’ve been sleeping under trees on a horse blanket for weeks; a bunk in your guest cabin is more than enough.”

Isabela inclined her head. “Then my back and pride both thank you; I don’t sleep well anywhere but my own bed.”

They waited two hours before the messenger came  back, and when he did it was at a dead sprint. There seemed to be three or four armed and armored men chasing him.

“Shove off!” Isabela bellowed, and her men set to work throwing off lines and pushing away from the docks. Dorian rushed to the rails and threw out a hand for the hard running crewman. They were six feet from the dock when he leapt for the rails, and Dorian pulled the air behind the boy to extend his jump. He cleared the rails with a pace or two to spare, but the men giving chase couldn’t hope to cover the gap.

Evelyn and Moira had hidden themselves below decks, but they both peered out a porthole to try to identify the men. Evelyn shrugged, but Moira grunted, “Wardens.”

“You think so?” Evelyn asked, looking closer.

“Not Wardens themselves. Likely just chasing down the boy, thinking he killed or stole from of us, and returned the horses when he knew what he’d done. It happens sometimes. Sort of what Blackwall did.”

Evelyn nodded. “Or maybe they are looking for us? We know I was seen, it stands to reason someone might have double-checked the box and sent birds long the road and to all the nearby ports. Minrathous is far enough out of the way that maybe just a few agents were watching for us, and not very well.”

Moira nodded slowly. “Possible. I suppose we won’t know until somebody catches us up.”

“With any luck, that won’t be until long after we’re home.”

Moira grinned at her. “Next stop Denerim? Or Skyhold?”

Evelyn smiled. “Denerim. We would have to sail right past it to get to Jader, no reason not to stop.”

“If we stop in Denerim, though, the Wardens might be in Skyhold before you can get there.”

“Not unless they suddenly convince Celene to override my decision and let them back in Orlais, they won’t.”

Moira’s smile was like a sunrise. “And to think I was mad at you for that.”

They laughed together and then watched from the porthole as the land shrank behind them before coming back on deck.

“How do you plan to get through the war around Seheron?” Moira called up to the Rivaini Captain standing at the helm.

Isabela pointed upwards. “Same way we got here. Flying new colors.”

The Inquisition crimson and gold snapped crisply in the sun, and Evelyn shook her head with a laugh.

“Our Lana thinks of everything, Your Majesty,” she told the beaming monarch beside her.

“That she does, Your Worship,” Moira replied, slinging an arm over the Inquisitor’s shoulders.

 

*

 

“So you told Isabela the four of us would meet her in Minrathous when you left her in Cumberland?” Moira asked, astonished, as they took dinner together in Isabela’s cabin. “And you were only off by _one day_?”

Evelyn shrugged. “We spent less time at Weisshaupt than I thought we would, but a lot more time getting there. I was actually getting worried about the time when we arrived.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t end up trying to meet in Minrathous,” Isabela told them. “My man Edan was nearly pinched when he said he had Warden horses to return. He says the man took one look at the mounts and hauled on a bell pull. You were definitely being watched for.”

“Aside from running into that one Warden in the woods, and someone getting a glimpse of me going through the window, we ran this off pretty flawlessly. All we need is a lead cask and we’re in great shape.”

As Isabela stood up with a thoughtful frown and paced over to her desk, Moira waved a fork at Evelyn. “Don’t forget Varric getting identified when you first walked in.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, sorry, you weren’t there yet when we talked about that,” Moira gestured to Varric and Dorian, who both nodded. “Anders recognized Varric the second you came into the hall. He even said something to me. I was hoping “dwarven merchant” was synonymous with “thief” but I didn’t want to risk asking Anders about you.”

Evelyn snorted. “Alright, so it wasn’t as smooth an operation as it could have been. But given neither of us knew what you looked like, we’re lucky it went as well as it did.”

Moira laughed, “Oh, Alistair will love that. He’s been trying to get me to sit for a portrait for years now. I might finally have to let him, if only because that would have made this so much safer.”

“Will this work?” Isabela called from underneath her desk. She had a small red lacquered box in her hands, lifted over her head to show it to them.

“That looks big enough, yes. Is it lead?” Evelyn answered.

“If I recall correctly. It's definitely heavy enough to be.”

“Better and better,” Moira cheered. Evelyn took the box to their cabin and quickly dug out and deposited the four brooches and the black dagger into their new safe. She tucked the heavy cask into her pack, synching it tight and then tucking that into her saddlebags. It had the feeling of finality, the last step in a long chain.

“Those papers,” Evelyn said when she next saw Moira; “do they need to go in the box, too? I didn’t look at them.”

Moira dug the thick envelope out of her own pack. “If the brooches are going to Dagna, then yes. This is the few notes taken from First Enchanter Remille, as well as the parts of Fiona’s deposition that specifically mention the brooches, and their noted effects.”

“Ooh, so I’m very glad I thought to grab them.”

“What can I say, Inquisitor, you’re brilliant.”

Yes, it could have been far worse.


	12. Passing the Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What else do you do on a long sea voyage? Beat the hell out of each other, of course.

The sail past Seheron left Evelyn with no fingernails and abysmal temper. The ocean was whipped up by a storm over Par Vollen, and the Qunari dreadnaughts they passed in the night lived up to their name.

But the Qun had no qualm with the Inquisition, she knew first hand from the Iron Bull. Evelyn hoped the Inquisition banner would be recognized – but whether or not it was, they were unmolested by the Qunari warships.

To pass the time – and keep herself distracted – Evelyn convinced Moira to learn the finer points of sailing with her. Isabela offered to teach them to navigate, which was well enough, but Evelyn also wanted to climb the rigging and learn how to set the sail. Isabela reluctantly agreed, “But only in good weather, on calm seas. I don’t want to be responsible for the Herald of bloody Andraste being lost at sea.”

The weather didn’t seem to want to cooperate, so the two women sparred instead.

Moira preferred a sword and dagger, so Evelyn offered her the use of one her spare.

“Gah, no,” Moira turned it away with a shudder when she saw the double blade. “How do you even use those things? The balance is all wrong.”

“May I?” she asked, belting the shoulder sheaths onto her back.

“By all means,” Moira bowed out of the way, finding a seat on a crate across the empty deck from Evelyn.

Evelyn stretched for a moment, swaying back and forth to find her balance on the moving surface of the ship, and then drew.

It was hard, trying to fight without an opponent, but Evelyn tried to picture herself sparring with Leliana, and rolled through the counters the other rogue would try. She didn’t keep it up for long, a few minutes perhaps, but when she stopped and opened her eyes, half the crew had appeared on the deck.

“Head’s up, Knuckles,” Varric called, and she heard the whistle of a bolt in the air. She dodged, swiveled, and sliced it in half.

“You _shot at her_?” Dorian said in a shocked tone from the seat he had taken near Moira. “I didn’t know we were allowed to _shoot_  at her!” He summoned a ball of ice in one hand and sent it flying at Evelyn’s unprotected back. She dropped to her face and then kicked up, standing on her hands briefly while the ice sped past, landing on her feet in time to deflect when Dorian sent a second right after it.

“NOT ON MY SHIP!” Isabela bellowed as she stormed onto the deck. Varric quickly hid Biance while Dorian acted like nothing had happened. “If anyone gets to take pot shots at the Inquisitor on my ship, its me.” And she drew both daggers as she launched at Evelyn.

They were both bloodied in seconds, shallow slices down forearms and across thighs. It was so much like fighting Leliana that Evelyn forgot, for just a heartbeat, that they weren’t wrapped in chainmail and bearing chalk-bladed daggers. She worked to pull back her edges then, noticing with relief that Isabela was having the same problem.

A scratch across Isabela’s eyebrow brought the quick match to an end, and Dorian raced forward to seal the minor injuries. Which was about all he _could_   heal, but that wasn’t why Evelyn kept him around.

“I’m sorry,” Evelyn apologized as Dorian worked. “When I spar with Leliana, we have these special suits so we don’t have to check our swings. I can’t remember the last time I sparred and was actually able to hurt the other person.”

Varric swung down from the deck rail he’d been balanced on. “The fuck did you just say?”

Evelyn froze. “Shit. Forget I…”

“You _spar_? With the _Nightingale?_ _Regularly?_ And you _never told me_? What about RogueDay?!?”

“Leliana didn’t want anybody to know, Varric. We never would have had a moments peace if anyone in the Inquisition thought they might be able to catch us fighting.”

“Who wins?” he asked, completely  unable to help himself.

“We don’t score it, Varric. You can’t score it. We’re half coated in chalk by the time we’re done.”

“Who _wins_?”

“Can we talk about this later? I will explain it all to you. If you make it back to Skyhold and Leliana’s there, we might even let you come to a match. Just, not here, okay?”

“Knuckles. Who wins.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes and turned away, but Dorian was clearly shocked by the admission. “You didn’t even tell _me_.”

“We didn’t tell anyone. Well, Harritt because he made the chainmail and the daggers. And he told Dagna because they work together and she was _right there_ and there wasn’t any way to keep it from her, not without lying, and lying to Dagna is just a terrible idea. Well, and Cullen, but that was Leliana’s decision and she just dragged him up to the roof with us.”

“So you told your paramour but not your best friend?”

“ _Curly_ got to _watch_ and he never gave it away?”

Evelyn covered her face with her palms.

“Wait, the roof? You spar with Leliana on the roof of your damn tower? That’s hundreds of feet in the air!”

“Inquisitor!” Moira called. Evelyn looked up and saw the Queen of Ferelden striding towards her with shield up and sword drawn. “I find I am in need of practice.”

“Bless you,” Evelyn replied, and threw herself at the Warden.

This was a completely different battle. It started as a hard test of Moira’s shield skills, as the warrior fought to keep the rogue’s blades away from her completely unarmored skin. A feint with the longsword drew Evelyn aside long enough for Moira to bash her halfway across the deck. Evelyn rolled before she lost the momentum and pushed herself to her feet, _willing_ herself invisible as she tucked under Moira’s guard to come up behind her. Rather than shred her new friend, Evelyn lifted one foot and kicked Moira in the back of one knee, forcing her to drop into a kneel to save the joint.

Moira stood and dropped the shield. “Okay, that. How do you counter _that?_ Where did you even go? Zev used to do that, it drove me mad.”

Evelyn laughed and let her dagger point dip. “Looking for secrets, are we?”

Moira smiled, and lunged, and the fight was back on.

Moira let Evelyn push her across the deck until there were only a couple paces between her and the door to Isabela’s cabin, effectively cutting off Evelyn’s ability to flank her. “That works,” Evelyn grunted, and was awarded with a quick laugh.

They were like the ocean against the shore; Evelyn’s daggers made a steady staccato song against Moira’s shield and sword, never ceasing but never breaking through.

And then something almost imperceptible shifted, and suddenly Evelyn was flying across the deck again, lip bloodied from the edge of Moira’s shield. The Warden crossed the deck over to her, dropping her shield on the way, and quickly lifted her to her feet. “Two points to me,” she said dryly, “but you’d have killed me if you’d used your knife instead of your boot. So I’m willing to give you the match.”

“A draw, since you drew blood.” Evelyn returned, and they shook on it.

All talk of Evelyn and Leliana sparring was forgotten as the crew wondered at their luck: the Hero of Ferelden and the Herald of Andraste battling it out on the deck of their ship and calling it a draw. Even Varric was distracted, albeit temporarily, quickly racing for a notebook to jot down the particulars of the duel before he could forget.

“It's your left hand,” Moira said after dinner that night, seemingly at random.

Evelyn lifted the hand to gaze at the place where the green glow of the rifts used to reside. “The anchor… you never got to see it, Moira, but it looked like someone had cut into my palm and poured magic into it, sulfur and brimstone and hate. I can’t say that it burned, because that isn’t strong enough. When the Breach was active, it would pulse as it grew, and I could _feel it_ in my bones. Waves of just pure agony. I ached. And then, using it… when we closed the rift beneath the Breach, the day I woke up in the dungeon and ended up meeting Varric, it nearly dislocated my shoulder. Varric carried me down the mountain because I passed out from the pain and exhaustion.”

Varric’s face was grim as he remembered, but he nodded as she paused.

“We ended up asking the Templars to seal the Breach not because I didn’t want to help the mages, but because I honestly didn’t believe I would survive _amplifying_ the anchor. The Templars were able to negate much of the magic of the Breach and helped me close it without having to put any more power through my hand. Even then, I was thrown 30 paces through the air when it snapped shut. The plan was to approach the mages as soon as the Breach was closed, start mending fences, but Alexius made sure there was _no time_ for that.”

Dorian nodded. Evelyn had explained all this to him before.

“The Venatori brought the rebel mages to Haven the night the Breach was closed,” Evelyn turned now to Moira. “I know Fiona was lost in the battle because I’m the one who took her down. I liked her, when I met her. But she charged us as we were loading the trebuchet; she got one cast off, a fireball that nearly took off Cassandra’s leg, and then she was just another enemy to me. I can promise it was quick. When I learned, later, that you were looking for her to help with the Calling I was just sick…”

Moira’s eyes filled with tears, and she reached across the table to rub a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. “I understand,” she said gently. “We’ve all had to make those choices.”

They were all silent for a moment then, while Evelyn collected herself.

“I had hoped,” she started again, “that when the Breach was closed, I would regain the strength in my left hand. I was disarmed in a fight in the Hinterlands – those _fucking_ bears that just kept wandering into our camp like we were interrupting their parade. I got tired, we’d been fighting for what seemed like hours, and then my hand just quit. Varric ran out of bolts about then, and I had another excuse to call the retreat, but I knew I couldn’t avoid the issue any longer. It was a handicap I wasn’t willing to bow to.”

“Huh. I remember that. Explains your hatred of bears a bit better,” Varric said, half to himself.

“I told Leliana about it, and she took me out into the woods to spar. We took a quarterstaff from the training ring and broke it into quarters and used those to spar with.”

“You came back one big bruise,” Varric reminded her. Moira and Dorian laughed at the image, while Isabela shuddered delicately. “I can only imagine.”

“She agreed to help me strengthen my hand, and we hoped things would improve. We closed the Breach, and the anchor still hurt, but nothing like it did when the Breach was open and growing. But my hand was still compromised, I still felt it was weaker than the right. When things didn’t get better, we started trying out different counters – things I could do when I was inevitably disarmed. So that’s why we never told anyone we were sparring. We couldn’t let word get out that the Inquisitor was weak on her left hand side. It would be a death sentence.”

Dorian and Varric both conceded her point, silently raising their glasses in a toast. Evelyn mirrored the action in acceptance.

“It was your left hand today that let me through,” Moira said gently, and Evelyn nodded.

“Its as strong as my right hand again. I’m sure it is. It has to be. But trust takes longer to return than strength.”

Moira grunted. “That’s for damn sure.”

“Well, you beat me,” Isabela said, kicking her heels up onto the table. “In front of my men, no less. Which means I have to demand a rematch… after we’ve had a bit of time to train me up enough to at least put on a show.”

Weaponry started shifting between the women, then, and as they sailed through the Northern Passage between Par Vollen and Rivain, Isabela was as adept with Evelyn’s daggers as her own, and Moira was switching between a sword and shield and her preferred sword-and-dagger combination with one of Isabela’s single blades.

Dorian was also getting quite adept at sealing minor slices and slashes.

Dorian often sat in on their matches, and not just to mend flesh wounds; he had grown increasingly withdrawn since their brief time in Minrathous, and Evelyn wanted to keep an eye on him.

“I should have stayed,” he said finally, as he held together two strips of flesh on Evelyn’s shoulder and sealed them back together. “If I knew then how I would feel now, I would have stayed.”

“You couldn’t have stayed, Sparkler,” Moira said calmly, waiting her turn for his attentions, a cloth wrapped tight around a bleeding ankle. “You rode in with me and you were seen at Weisshaupt. The Wardens would have been on you like masks on Orlesians.”

“She’s right,” Isabela said, third in line with another head wound.

“Look,” Evelyn chimed in, ”when we get back, you should go to Val Royeaux and find Bull. He’ll be able to tell you what’s going on in Minrathous and help you decide the best time to go home. But right now, a lot of what you’re feeling is homesickness. You got a brief reminder of the absolute best of your home, the smell and the sights and the feelings… and then you left. It wasn’t enough. Shit, I got homesick in _Kirkwall_ and I didn’t even _like_ Ostwick.”

“Maker, what did I do to fall in with three such bloodthirsty, brilliant women,” he said without a trace of irony.

“Stick with me, kid,” Moira gritted as he unwrapped her ankle. “You’ll go places.”

 

*

 

They were somewhere between Estwatch and Hercinia when Isabela challenged Evelyn to a rematch. Moira was designated the objective third party judge, and Evelyn insisted Isabela use the spare double-bladed daggers she had with her, so things were even.

Dorian rimmed each blade with ice, which affected the balance but would also drastically reduce bloodshed. As sailors practically fell out of the rigging to get to the deck to watch, Evelyn launched herself at the Rivaini.

It was a longer, and far more brutal, match than their first bout. In spite of the ice they were both sweaty and bloodied almost immediately. To Isabela’s credit, they fought for a solid six or seven minutes before Evelyn broke her guard and reappeared behind her, dropping her boot to the Captain’s knee. Isabela took the injury, though, letting her knee hyperextend with a sickening _snap_ , swivelling around to put a dagger scratch across Evelyn’s throat. As the Rivaini collapsed to the deck with a swear, an astonished Moira declared her the victor.

“Let that be a lesson to all of you,” Isabela gritted out at her crew. “Mercy gets you killed. If the Inquisitor had gone for the killing shot instead of the knee, she’d be alive and I’d be dead.”

“I am ready and willing to declare you far more ruthless than me, Captain,” Evelyn said with a smile. “And you can keep the daggers as forfeit.”

“You’re damn right I’m keeping the daggers,” she said as her first mate lifted her up and carried her back to to her cabin. She lifted one to her men, who gave her a resounding cheer.

“You didn’t throw that,” Varric said in Evelyn’s ear.

Evelyn shook her head. “She’s a fucking pirate, Varric. I should have known she’d take three weeks off her leg just to win back the confidence of her crew. I meant it when I said the bitch was ruthless.”

Varric smiled. “You like her.”

“Love her. Plan to keep her.”


	13. Common Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hero and the Herald find common ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the longer ones.

“Tell me, Inquisitor,” Moira said, coming up behind the thief as she leaned on the deck and watched the shores of the Free Marches glide past in the distance, “why did you actually agree to come?”

“We’ve spent weeks on a boat, close quarters, no privacy... so you calling me _Inquisitor_ seems pretty silly at this point.”

“But you _are_ the Inquisitor. You’ve got a pocket full of titles like I do, and probably have your preferences among them. You wear _Inquisitor_ like I wear _Warden_ , so I figured you’d rather it than _Herald_. You seem to hate being a religious figure as much as I hate being called a Hero.”

Evelyn laughed, although there was little humor in it. “The difference being, there’s a legitimate argument to be made in calling you the Hero of Ferelden. You led the forces that ended the Blight, you slew the arch demon, you settled the civil war. If you want to share that responsibility with Alistair, so be it – but that doesn’t make you any less remarkable. There is no truth to me being called the Herald of Andraste.”

“First, I didn’t slay the archdemon-“

“His name is Kieran.”

“Excuse me?”

“Morrigan’s son. His name is Kieran.”

Moira fell completely silent.

“I walked in on a little family reunion. Morrigan, her son, her mother. She didn’t tell me, she has never told anyone. If I hadn’t stood there and listened to all of it, been dragged into it really, I never would have known. And, no worries, there’s no one I would tell. I understand what happens when you tell a lie for so long you start to believe it. But I do know the truth. And you passing off responsibility to Alistair, to _Riordan_ , is something you tell yourself, and not something that’s real.”

“Were you anyone else…”

“You’d have me killed, I know. I’d expect you to try, to be honest. But I’m not Orlesian – I hate their fucking _Game_ – and I would never need to hold this over your head. I’d never have a reason to hold it against you. Maker’s mercy, Moira, you trusted me to break into _Weisshaupt_ for you. I would rather you be my friend, that we trust each other… and if we can manage that, I would never have anything to gain with blackmail.”

The only sound was the wind in the rigging, the _whoosh_ of sea against the hull.

“And, besides,” Evelyn continued, “there are worse things than having an assassin who considers you a personal friend keeping an eye on potential trouble.”

“I already have one of those, thanks,” Moira snorted a laugh. “But, no, I wouldn’t have him killed.”

“He’s just a boy, now. His grandmother… ugh, it’s hard to say this in a way that makes any sense. Someday, when we’ve got some privacy and a couple bottles of wine, I tell you everything.”

“That sounds like a solid plan,” Moira agreed.

They were quiet again, comfortable in each other’s company. The wind blew Evelyn's hair out of her face, but Moira's was far longer, and it kept whipping into her eyes. Evelyn could tell there was something on her mind as she fought to gather it up and hold it out of her way.

“They say..” Moira started, cleared her throat. “They say when you came out of the rift, after the Conclave, that Andraste was behind you.”

“They do say that.”

“That would make “Herald of Andraste” pretty cut and dry.”

“It wasn’t her,” Evelyn sighed. “And I never thought it was. I didn’t remember anything when I woke up in the cell in Haven, and Cassandra dragged me straight up the mountain before I knew what was going on. They used me to close the rifts that were threatening the town, stabilized the Breach, and then I collapsed. Varric carried me back down. By the time I was awake and free to speak for myself, it had been four days of rumors. I opened up my door that morning and there was a crowd of people standing around to see their _Herald_ and nobody, once, asked me who it had been in the rift.”

“If you didn’t remember…?”

“Moira. If you looked upon the face of Holy Andraste, don’t you think you would remember?”

Moira had no answer.

“I remembered there being a woman. I remembered being chased by… things… that I later learned were demons of fear. But I knew the woman who had offered me her hand wasn’t Andraste. Because I knew I would have known.”

“Did you ever find out?”

Evelyn nodded. “At Adamant. The dragon Corypheus had corrupted destroyed the causeway we were on, and we fell… I used the anchor to open up a rift, and we all tumbled into the Fade. Myself, Stroud, Hawke, Cassandra, Solas, Varric. A spirt was there, and she helped me recover my memories. She took the form of Divine Justinia. Which is what everyone saw in the Fade behind me… whether it really was Justinia or not, that’s what everyone saw. Not Andraste. Never Andraste.”

“Stroud died in the Fade, didn’t he?”

Evelyn nodded. “The spirit of Justinia – or what was taking her form, at least – distracted the nightmare demon long enough for us to fight his avatar, and for my team to get out. But she was overcome before Hawke, Stroud, and I could escape. Hawke and Stroud fought over who would stay, and forced me to make the decision. I picked Stroud. I picked Stroud because I didn’t want to have to see the look in Varric’s eyes when I told him his best friend was dead. I didn’t want to have to tell Fenris, tell _Kirkwall_ that I’d killed their Champion. And Stroud was just a Warden… he was already dead.”

Evelyn roughly scrubbed the tears out her eyes with the backs of her palms. “And it’s the only decision I don’t really regret. It was probably the most selfish one I made, based on people and not politics, not the greater good. I set the Wardens back even farther than they already were, and the world _needs Wardens_. But with Stroud dead, with Clarel dead, there wasn’t a single Warden in Orlais that I could trust.”

She turned to Moira, expecting to see anger or worse, pity, and only seeing bleak understanding. Empathy, even. “So that’s why I‘m here. The crux of the whole matter. Because I owe it to the Wardens, after my decisions at Adamant. And because the things I regret are the people I didn’t save, like Fiona and the mages, like the elves at Halamshiral. You’re the intersection of those two ideas… help the wardens find a cure, help _this_ Warden, help this _woman_. And maybe I would be lucky enough to pull another friend out of the mess.”

She shook her head. “Because Maker knows I can always use another friend.”

“It’s amazing how fast they scatter, isn’t it?” Moira said, not really a question.

Evelyn smiled sadly. “Solas was gone in the same hour Corypheus died. When Cassandra was made Divine, fully half of my team left for Val Royeaux. Vivienne and Sera went with her – for massively different reasons – and Bull took the Chargers and entered the direct employ of the Chantry. Blackwall – sorry, Thom – was sent to Weisshaupt to become a Warden for real, as opposed to the fraud he was. I never know for sure where Cole is; he’s somewhere being helpful, and sometimes that’s not Skyhold. When Varric left for Kirkwall, it was just Dorian. Well, and Cullen, but he was never with me in the field. He was always waiting for me in Skyhold, in the council room, with Lana and Josie. When Leliana and Josephine both said they would stay, my heart about melted.”

“Sten went back to Par Vollen as soon as the Blight ended. Wynne and Leliana left for Orlais within a few weeks. Morrigan… Morrigan did to me what Solas did to you, and vanished as soon as the body hit the ground. Oghren took off after a woman, damn fool, and so for awhile it was just Zev and Alistair. And Rufus, can’t forget Rufus.”

Evelyn laughed, this time more genuinely. “Rufus doesn’t seem like the type to _let you_ forget him. He about mauled Leliana when we first got to Denerim.”

“You spend all this time with this group of people… living, dying, fighting, winning, losing,” Moira said, voice rough with emotion. “You don’t let yourself think about what comes _after_ -“

“Because it hurts too damn bad to hope.”

Moira looked at her with eyes full of tears. “The stories always stop when the protagonist wins. Nobody ever tells you what they did _after_. How they went back to just being a person again, how they and their companions slowly got old and died, always wondering _what happened to us_.”

“How they said _fuck this_ and decided to take on a crazy voyage with half-strangers and find a cure for the calling.”

Moira laughed, and the two women leaned against each other, shoulder to shoulder.

“I think that’s what happened to Maric,” Moira said, eyes focused at some point beyond the horizon. “Rowan died, Cailan got older, Loghain was in Gwaren… he went on that Deep Roads venture like I went on this trip. And then he got in a ship and sailed away, vanished. No body, no clues. That was Alistair’s version of this: he went looking for Maric, took Varric and Isabela with him. Alistair says he found him, what was left of him at least, in a fortress in the north. It’s not my story to tell, but the point stands. Nobody even _talks_ about what happened to Maric – he took back Ferelden, married Rowan, lived _happily ever after_. But Rowan died, and Maric disappeared. Is it a happily ever after if it lasts less than a decade? Did he fight his entire life and never find peace?”

“Have you?” Evelyn asked, when Moira paused.

“I turned thirty this year,” Moira said softly. “I celebrated my birthday in a little hidden hollow we discovered on the west side of Lake Calenhad. We could never travel that side of the lake without being ambushed relentlessly, I don’t know what it was. But this place, it was always safe. No one ever found us there. And when I was travelling to Redcliffe, I had to stop, and remember, just for a moment, what it had been like ten years before. Whose arms was I in, where were we, did I even know what day it was? And you know what happened to me that night?”

“Leliana found you.”

Moira smiled. “Because of course she told you.”

“I knew she went. She stopped at her tent long enough to grab her things when we came back to Haven that night and then she was gone. If she looked anything like me, she was purple from the chin down.”

Moira laughed. “She was. The bruises clashed awfully with her hair.”

Evelyn echoed the sound, reaching up to tug at one of her own ruddy locks. “It wasn’t much better for me.”

“She remembered,” Moira continued when their laughing ceased. “She had been watching Redcliffe because of the mages there, the Tevinters, and when I left Orlais she knew where I’d go. We sat on either side of the fire and she helped me remember what it was like to just be a girl on her birthday.”

Evelyn smiled, consciously echoing Moira. “Because of course Leliana remembers your birthday.”

“Moments like that… yes, I find peace. When Alistair and I are together, travelling or even just sharing breakfast… yes, I find peace. But peace is a difficult concept when you’re expected to martyr yourself in the Deep Roads, when you have to determine who is going to get the throne when you suicide.”

“If there is a way to stop that from happening to you, I will find it,” Evelyn said, grimly. “Besides that it’s the right thing to do, besides that it might help prevent a civil war… I will figure this out if only because you might be the only other person in Thedas who actually knows how I feel.”

Moira pushed away from the rail and wrapped her arms around Evelyn. “I believe you.”

 

*

 

Dorian and Varric were engaged in a heated game of Wicked Grace on the deck a few nights later, leaving Moira and Evelyn alone in the room they all shared belowdecks. Evelyn had scrounged up a passable bottle of wine from Isabela’s stores – leaving a handful of sovereigns in the space the bottle vacated. They sat in hammocks, dangling from the beams of their room, the bottle of wine split evenly between two large tankards that sloshed as the women swung in time with the ship.

“First love,” Moira said.

“What, mine?” Evelyn laughed.

“Yes, yours. Let’s just be two women drinking together… not the _Herald_ , not the _Hero_ , no kingdoms or Inquisitions.”

“If you would have asked me that a year ago, I would have told you he was a carta lieutenant from clan Cadash. But the more time that goes on, the more I realize I didn’t know love. I slept with him. I mourned when he died. But Haven… losing Haven fundamentally changed what I knew about love.”

“So you’re going to take the bullshit answer and tell me it’s Cullen.”

“Cullen is the only man I’ve ever been in love with, yes. Did you hear about Haven?”

“Some, yes. And I remember the layout of the town.”

Evelyn frowned for a minute, remembered. “It is so odd, knowing _you_ found Haven, found the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

“I was apparently the last one to _see_ Andraste’s ashes.”

“So they were real.”

“They saved Eamon Guerrin.”

“I understand they did a lot of work to Haven after Genitivi disclosed the location and people started making the pilgrimmage there. You might not have recognized it, but for the most part – the Chantry in the back, the little huts in clumps down the hill – it was the same. When the dragon came, we were pinned down in the Chantry. Cullen couldn’t see a way for it to be survivable. He told me that all we had control over was how spitefully we ended it.”

“That sounds like the Cullen I met in Kinloch,” Moira said softly.

“Chancellor Roderick, who before this was a perpetual thorn in my ass, knew of a path that led from the back side of the Chantry. Apparently, everyone else who had taken it with him, when they found it by accident, had died in the Conclave. He led our people out. But we had to distract Corypheus and his dragon, give the civilians and our forces time to escape and regroup. Dorian knew that the objective in the attack was me, or rather the anchor I’d stolen, so I was the only choice for a distraction.”

“Or a sacrificial lamb.”

“Lambs don’t have daggers.”

“I’d be a vegetarian if they did,” Moira laughed, and gestured for Evelyn to continue.

“But the point to all of this…. I ran to the door of the Chantry, after agreeing on a plan with Cullen. Cassandra was already there. Just standing by the door, ready to help me make a stand, and let everyone else go. Willing to die _with_ me, without question or hesitation. And I _loved her_ for it. Solas and Varric showed up in seconds, only held up by a crate of potions they ransacked on the way to the door. Again, no question, no argument. I _loved them_ for it. I looked at Cullen as we left, and his face… he would have come with me, too. In a heartbeat. His duty was to the people, to the Inquisition, and he wouldn’t argue it, and I _loved him_ for it. I realized that was what I had never had before, never understood before. That feeling so strongly about something or someone that dying for it isn’t a question. I was willing to die that night, for those people, for that cause. Haven taught me that what I felt for Cadash wasn’t love.”

They were quiet then, swinging silently in time with the sea and listening to the sounds of the heated card game above deck. Evelyn was struck by how comfortable she was in this woman’s presence – a woman she had formerly idolized.

“My parents were killed in our home, betrayed by a friend,” Moira said softly, settling her half-full tankard into her lap. “Before she died, my mother saw her grandson and his mother – my brother’s wife and child – dead on the floor of their bedroom, dead where they should have been safe. She sent me with Duncan, sent me away, knowing at least I would live long enough to send word to my brother and to the King of what had happened. She stayed and bought me time to escape; I can only assume she died where last I saw her, standing over my father’s body.”

Evelyn closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose. Highever’s fall was part of the greater legend of the Hero of Ferelden, but it wasn’t a shining point in the nation’s history.

“It was the second time that night I watched someone make that decision, had someone stay behind and protect my escape. He was one of my father’s knights, Ser Gilmore; it was he whom we thought Duncan had come to recruit. I’d always been close with Gilmore, but that night, when I had to turn my back on him and leave him to try and find my parents, to escape the castle, he never flinched, never questioned.”

“I’d heard it was a ploy,” Evelyn said, carefully; she would never have dreamed saying it without the wine in her blood. “That taking Highever was meant to keep men away from Ostagar, so the men from Amaranthine and Highever would be the only standing army left in case things went wrong at Ostagar.”

“My parents died as a part of Loghain’s back up plan, yes,” Moira said sadly. “Its why I couldn’t let him live, couldn’t let either of them live. Howe actually told me that he made my father watch my mother kiss his boots before he killed them both. I’ll never know if it was real, or something he just said to bait me. He didn’t live long after that.”

“Would you call Ser Gilmore your first love, then?”

Moira laughed. “No, I was far too wild then. I had flings – a friend of my mother’s had a son just the right age. He was visiting the night we were attacked, he and his mother and sister. I found his body in the library. Ser Gilmore loved me, I am certain, if only from afar. No, if I must put a name to it, you know what I would say.”

“Lana,” Evelyn whispered, and Moira nodded.

“Cadash was with me at the Conclave,” Evelyn said, and Moira winced sympathetically. “So was my brother, Aaric. He was the second son – sent along to keep me honest, once my father learned he wasn’t exactly separating me from Cadash. I liked Aaric because he’s the only one who was never mad at me for our mother’s death. I was a difficult birth, she lost too much blood. She went too fast, there was nothing anyone could do. My siblings hated me, for killing Mother. But not Aaric, never Aaric. He told me that she loved me best, that I was the only of us she was willing to die for. He told me how she’d sing to me, in the weeks leading up to when I was born, and that she’d told our father I was to be their crowning achievement.”

She laughed, barely more than an amused breath. “Since there’s only four of us alive now, the honor means less.”

“Aaric was lost at the Conclave, as well?”

Evelyn nodded. “I had two sisters – the two oldest sisters – both die when the Circle fell at Ostwick. The very oldest was a mage, the other a Templar. They were found in each other’s arms. I didn’t know either of them, so I couldn’t tell you if they died protecting one another or if they killed each other. In my family it really could have gone either way.”

“It was only ever me and Fergus,” Moira said. “He married – had a little boy, Oren. I didn’t think he would remarry after the Blight, but he is a good man, my brother. And he knew he had to carry on the family name. I told him Wardens couldn’t conceive, and so he was the last Cousland. He has three little ones now. Alistair thinks the second son would be a reasonable candidate for our heir, should our current venture not pan out.”

“Every second son’s dream,” Evelyn laughed, and Moira quickly raised her tankard in agreement.

“Thank you,” Moira said after a few minutes had passed.

“For what?”

She raised her hands, gestured around the room. “This.”

“This is not my ship,” Evelyn laughed.

“No!’ Moira threw the empty bottle at Evelyn, who caught it and carefully propped it into the corner of her hammock. “Ass.”

“What then?”

“This moment. This reprieve. This idea that maybe I’m a little less alone. This hope that maybe this trip actually solved all my problems… that maybe while I needed the brooches, what I really needed was an ally.”

Evelyn raised her tankard. “Here’s to us, then.”

Moira mirrored the gesture. “To us.”

 

*

 

They hugged the coast of Amaranthine, and Moira climbed a ways into the rigging with Evelyn to point out landmarks and share stories. It didn’t take long for Varric to park himself underneath them with a notebook.

“You’re ruining the moment, Varric,” Evelyn called down to him.

“Keep talking, this is _gold_.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes and pulled herself around so she was standing on the boom, before taking a few short steps and leaping off to grab a rope clamped down against the mast. She climbed up to the yard at the top of the sail and gestured for Moira to follow her.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” the warden shouted up to her.

“They’re just ropes and poles! There’s so much material up here, you’d have to _work_ to fall! And Varric’s shit as a climber.”

Moira shook her head, _no_ , and exaggerated the motion so she was sure Evelyn could see.

Evelyn rolled her eyes and slid back down the mast, spinning around at the bottom to sit next to Moira again.

“Don’t do heights?”

Moira shook her head again. “No. It’s really the only thing I can honestly say I’m afraid of. I blame the chasm in the Deep Roads. And the arch demon’s love of picking people up and dropping them from thousands of feet in the air.”

Evelyn laughed. “Well, then, we’re balanced. Because heights are pretty much the _only_ thing I’m _not_ scared of.”

Moira laughed as she climbed down to the deck, sitting on a crate next to Varric.

“She ain’t kidding,” Varric said lightly. “Knuckes is afraid of her own boots.”

Evelyn nodded solemnly. “It took me a lot to get to the point where I could laugh about it, but its true.”

“I never would have guessed,” Moira sounded impressed.

“Cullen stopped taking lyrium,” Evelyn began, and Varric waved a hand dismissively. He’d heard this one. He wasn’t about to step away and risk them changing the subject, so he settled in to listen – and likely critique.

“There’s a lot more to the story than this, but the point… I was on the opposite side of Orlais when he finally hit bottom, when the very last of the lyrium dribbled out of his system and his body shut down. It was taking ravens three or four days to get to where we were camped, and I wasn’t exactly on a pleasure cruise. We had spent nearly three weeks in the desert, fighting Venatori and systematically tearing down everything they’d built. There was a high dragon in between where we were and where we needed to be-“

“Because of course there was,” Moira said. “Its like they occupy the most important places in the world on purpose, just to be dicks. There was one between Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes when we went through.”

Evelyn laughed. “Exactly. So we went back to camp to regroup, and the raven came with the news. It had already been three nights since Leliana sent it… anything could have happened in that time. As far as I knew, Cullen was already dead.”

“Given you’ve never claimed to be a widow, I take it that wasn’t the case.”

“No, the story is a little less when you know the hero survives at the end,” Varric commented.

“It is neither the case nor the point. I was _helpless_. I was afraid for his life, terrified that I would return to Skyhold and find black banners flying, and I was utterly helpless to do anything about it. I had a dragon to kill, a tomb to find and fortify, and hundreds of miles to cross to return to him, and I was completely paralyzed with fear.”

“So what did you do?”

“She took four steps into the Wastes,” Varric said, his voice distant. Evelyn allowed the interruption with a roll of her eyes. “She held the parchment in her hand from her lover, the last words he’d written her, to be sent when he fell. And in her loneliest hour, the Herald of Andraste spoke the Chant of Light into the desert, and made believers of us all.”

Evelyn sighed. “Stop it.”

He looked at her. “What? I’m dead serious. Regardless of what dead religious figure threw you out of the Fade, you were sent back for a _reason_.”

“Yeah, the anchor. Stupid.”

He scowled at her. “You can ask Hawke, I’m generally the last person to turn to religion as an answer, but you, Knuckles? You can make a believer out of anyone. You fed the hungry, you clothed the cold, you protected the weak, you sheltered the weary. All that bullshit the Chantry is supposed to do but instead just preaches about, _you did_ and refused to ever admit to. And when you were absolutely convinced Curly had bit it and you’d let him down, what did you do?”

Evelyn was frowning at him so fiercely her eyes were nearly completely closed.

Varric stood, turned toward Moira, and softly chanted, “Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker’s right hand, and be Forgiven.”

Moira raised an eyebrow. “Canticle of …Trials, right? Forgive me, I’m rusty on the Chant.”

Evelyn nodded. “Cullen taught it to me. It helped, after what happened at Therinfall and then at Adamant.”

“You stood at the edge of a camp full of soldiers who already believed you were the Herald of Andraste, and you dropped a line of scripture on them?”

“No, see, that’s only the part I remember,” Varric said, sitting down again. “She did two verses while standing there looking out at the ‘Wastes, and the Seeker slowly melted into a sobbing mess. Then Cassandra joined in for a third verse. And then Knuckles turns around, dead calm, and says that. And _then_ she says, “We’re killing a dragon tomorrow. We’re entering Fairel’s tomb. And then we’re going home.”

Moira is laughing at her, then, which is the last response Evelyn expected. “Why is that funny?”

“First, that you taught a dwarf the Chant – even if its only one line. Second, you complain that you aren’t the Herald of Andraste, and then you do shit like that? Maker’s breath, Evelyn, you brought _Divine Victoria_ to tears with a few lines of the Chant of Light. And you don’t think you’re a religious symbol? Are you insane?”

Evelyn threw herself onto the deck and sprawled on her back. “Andraste’s soiled knickers, _not you too_.”

“Maybe the Chantry at Skyhold should become a pilgrimage site.”

“I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.”

Evelyn sat up, sighing. “No, you’re right, I don’t. Because in my heart of hearts you’ll always be The Hero of Ferelden, no matter how much you hate it or disagree. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re also a person, a wife, a warrior, a warden, a friend. And even though you’re my friend, I still _really fucking want your autograph_. And turnabout is fair play, I suppose.”

Moira stood and offered Evelyn a hand up. “Herald,” she said.

Evelyn took it, allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. “Hero,” she answered.

Varric was writing so fast his quill should have been smoking. “Gold,” he muttered as he worked. “Pure gold.”


	14. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smidgeon of this is NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longish chapter

Evelyn had long since given up trying to keep track of the days. It was Isabela's ship, Isabela's command, and Evelyn was more than content to laze in her hammock, lost in idle conversation with Moira. They'd watched Amaranthine glide by, so Evelyn knew they were close to home. She climbed the rigging and watched Denerim appear on the horizon from the crow's nest. 

Moira had politely refused to join her, insisting that her kingly husband had enough on his plate without hearing his wife had gone overboard so close to home.

“He’s on the docks,” she said to Evelyn as the Inquisitor gracefully slid down the rigging to stand beside her and out of the sailors’ way.

“You see him?”

“Feel him. There’s a Warden on the docks. Haven’t felt a Warden since we got onto the road north of Vol Dorma. Felt darkspawn a couple of times – when we got close to shore, especially in the ‘Marches. Wardens feel different. And I can only imagine one Warden who would come down to the docks to meet a Rivaini ship flying an Inquisition flag.”

Evelyn laughed. “Forgot about that bit. Pretty obvious who we are.”

Evelyn watched as Moira slowly tensed, saw the warrior shift her balance anxiously back and forth across the balls of her feet. She was a league from her husband. A mile. A hundred paces. And then he was leaping up onto the rail and onto the ship, sweeping her into his arms and dancing across the deck. Moira’s arms were wrapped around his neck and her face buried against his shoulder; Evelyn could just barely hear them both speaking rapidly to the other although she couldn’t make out the words.

“I have news,” Moira said as she pulled back to look at him, hands going to his hair and her wide smile lighting her face.

“I don’t care,” Alistair replied happily. “You’re home.” He lifted her lightly, danced another circle. “You’re home.”

“I’m home,” she agreed, and then he kissed her.

Evelyn sighed happily, watching the reunion from a crate on the deck. “This is what best sellers are made of,” Varric said from just behind her.

“So you’re staying in Denerim for a bit?”

The dwarf laughed. “You are too, if I’m not mistaken.”

Evelyn looked up and followed his gaze to where the gangplank was being pushed across from the now-secured vessel to the dock beyond. More people were coming on board, and the very first of them was-

“Cullen!” she cried, throwing herself off the crate and across the deck.

“Oof,” he said as she staggered him backwards. He recovered blessedly fast, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her close to his chest. His welcome was much more sedate than Alistair’s, but no less impassioned. “I couldn’t stay away,” he whispered in her ear as she wound her arms around him and breathed in his scent. “Leliana was sure you would stop first in Denerim before sailing on to Jader, and I couldn’t rest knowing I could see you a week or two sooner.”

“I love you,” she said, the only words she felt capable of. “Maker’s breath, I love you.”

Alistair and Moira came careening across the deck, bumping into Evelyn and Cullen with a laugh. “Evelyn, you trollop! “ the king teased, breaking her away from her husband. “How dare you force me to wait for your affections!”

Evelyn laughed and submitted to a bear hug from Alistair. She found herself spun through the air much as Moira had, although she protested where the Queen had laughed.

Moira stepped shyly to Cullen as Alistair and Evelyn danced across the deck to the tune of “Eeek put me down put me down put me down!”

“Cullen? It’s been ages. So good to see you again.”

“You are well… Moira?”

The Queen nodded. “Yes, please. After everything, we should not stand on ceremony.”

“Good. I’m glad. It is wonderful to see you home safe.”

“Thank you. Evelyn and I had a lot of time to talk in the past months, I should warn you. You might not have any secrets left.”

Cullen laughed, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “I should have suspected as much.”

“Curly,” Varric said with a nod as the dwarf passed them on his way off the ship.

“Princeling,” Cullen answered, grinning as Varric missed a step.

“Waited a long time to do that?” Moira surmised.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Dorian also was not free of Alistair’s exuberance, despite him being a mage, a Tevinter, and a complete stranger. Moira had ducked belowdecks to gather her meager belongings, and when she returned, she found her husband and Sparkler dancing the Remigold, something that had her laughing so hard she leaned on Evelyn as tears streamed down her face.

Alistair slapped Dorian on the shoulder as he went to rejoin his wife, and Dorian smirked at Evelyn over the retreating king’s shoulder. “Add fantasy fulfillment for reigning monarchs to my illustrious resume.”

“For five gold I won’t tell Bull this happened.”

“For ten, will you make sure he hears a greatly exaggerated version of events?”

“Jealousy to keep those fires stoked?” Evelyn laughed.

Dorian shrugged, following her into the cabin they’d shared to collect their things and go ashore. “Things with the Iron Bull and I were never as clear-cut as with you and your Commander. We both rather preferred it way, but now, I find I…”

“Miss him?” Evelyn completed the sentence for him.

Dorian nodded gruffly.

“We know where he is – and where he is likely to be for quite awhile. There’s a lot of money to be made working for Cass- Victoria. You do what we said earlier, go to Val Royeaux or even just drop him a line seeking his advice about returning to Minrathous, and see what he says. Its low risk, high reward.”

Dorian snorted a laugh. “Your favorite.”

Evelyn bumped shoulders with him as they made their way back across the deck. “ _Your_ favorite. I prefer high risk.”

“Lies,” the Tevinter contradicted her happily, and his spirits seemed to return.

Isabela opted to stay with her ship – apparently there were several people she needed to avoid inside Denerim – but the carriage Alistair and Cullen had ridden down to the docks in was plenty big enough for the four additions, especially with how close Moira and Evelyn were seated to their husbands. The Fereldan monarchs were sitting upright, pressed together at knees, hips, and shoulders. Her right hand was wound through his left; her left hand laid atop and his right hand was cupped underneath their joined fingers. Cullen was pressed into the opposite corner of the carriage, his left arm around Evelyn’s shoulders as she curled slightly away from the rest of their group to bury her head in his shoulder. His right arm ran slowly, ceaselessly, up and down her left arm, his cheek laid against the top of her head.

Varric, seated next to Moira, looked back and forth between the two couples, noting the how the difference in their relationships could be so easily seen. To his right were equals; warriors, wardens, regents; the bastard son of a king and the beloved daughter of a powerful teryn. The others were evenly unequal; the leader and the advisor, the defender and the defended, the common Templar and the noble thief. While Evelyn might shout a command to Cullen in the midst of battle and know it would be followed without question, she was happier wilted against him, willing herself invisible knowing that he would keep her safe. His “advice” was accepted without question, an honor Leliana and Josephine fought long and hard for, but he fell into as naturally as breathing.

If he cared to, Varric could write a three-part study of relationship dynamics, using Hawke and Fenris to round it out. They were a completely different creature altogether, the leader and the follower finding balance in love and mutual respect. He found himself laughing at the thought of it.

“Something amusing?” Dorian asked from the opposite corner, Evelyn’s feet using his legs as leverage to press against Cullen.

“Just had a great idea that I couldn’t ever hope to market, is all.” Varric replied. “If I had a sovereign for every time that happened, I’d… well, I’d have a lot of sovereigns.”

“Surely you’re not strapped for cash,” Moira said chidingly. “Even Alistair has read the _Tale of the Champion_.”

Varric’s finances notwithstanding, the rest of the ride to the castle was taken up by a discussion of his books, and how somehow he’d found fans in the King and Queen of Ferelden.

The conversation that evening was neither light nor comfortable, made bearable only by the grace of being held in good company.

“Almost all of the news I have is bad. Dreadfully so,” Moira began after they had retired to her library after dinner. Heralds were already making their way through the city, announcing the return of the Queen, and she would be thrown back into her long-shirked responsibilities the next morning. Alistair, who had been left to run the country in her absense, had no sympathy for her. Quite the opposite: he had sent the heralds.

“You’re home,” he said gently in response. “The only thing I couldn’t stand to hear is the one thing you can’t tell me.”

She reached over to cup his face in reply, gazing at him happily for a moment before launching into her story.

“Some of this I haven’t told Evelyn. And there are some things that must be held to Warden ears alone and as such I will apologize in advance for the information I will withhold. But everything we speak of must be sealed to this room.”

The Inquisitor and her allies inclined their heads as one to Moira’s statement. Rufus, who had glued himself to Moira’s side the second he laid eyes on her, thumped his short tail twice as if agreeing to her terms.

Moira lanched into her story again, and much of it was what she had told to Varric, Evelyn, and Dorian the night they’d met in Weisshaupt. There were a few notable inclusions.

“Fiona was pregnant in Weisshaupt,” Moira said after admitting to stealing the elven woman’s file from the records room. “She was clear of the taint by the time she got to the Anderfels, but she would have conceived… well, in the Deep Roads. She doesn’t say it clearly in her deposition, but she was going to give the child over to his father for raising, and Duncan was noted as accompanying her when she left Weisshaupt for good.”

Alistair went still. “I think Fiona was your mother, Alistair,” Moira said gently. “I think the story of the Redcliffe serving girl was made up to cover what actually happened. And I think that’s why she never responded to any of your letters; I don’t think she could.”

Alistair closed his eyes and breathed slowly, absorbing this new information. He was many things, but half-elven wasn’t something he expected, nor to be the child of a Warden mage.

When he opened them again, it was to see Evelyn slowly standing, hands pressed tight against her chest, face devoid of color. “Evelyn, please,” Moira started, but the Inquisitor ignored her, crossing the room to fall to her knees at Alistair’s feet.

“Maker forgive me,” she gasped. “Alistair, please, I have regretted it since it happened but never so much as this. I’m so sorry. I slew Fiona at Haven.”

His eyes went wide but he waved off Cullen and Moira as they attempted to interfere. “Evelyn…”

“I was aiming the trebuchet,” she told him, the monotone words nearly a chant as she forced the story past her teeth. “We’d secured the first, but they’d taken the second. I was aiming it at the mountain, stopping continually to fight off the waves of Venatori who were slowly but surely overwhelming our defenses. Cassandra was overwhelmed trying to defend Solas and I had to abandon the trebuchet to help them.”

Evelyn was shaking as she choked out the words. “Fiona came into Haven from around the wall, flanking us with a red templar behemoth. She looked me in the eyes as she cast the fireball at Cassandra – Solas had a barrier up that took the worst of it but still, the damage nearly cost Cassandra the leg. _Would_ have if we hadn’t had a mage right there, a crate of potions pushed up against the base of the trebuchet. I watched her pull together a second cast, and I acted. Her eyes never left mine, but neither of us had a choice. It was quick, I swear to you it was quick. She didn’t raise a hand to defend herself from me. And it was haunted me ever since.”

She reached up to wipe away tears that hadn't yet fallen, but Alistair still said nothing. He could tell she wasn’t finished. “I had to choose. I chose the Templars, chose to approach them and have them help us seal the Breach. The plan was to leave right after, go back to Redcliffe and approach the mages, try to break the deal they’d made with Tevinter. I hadn’t even unpacked. We knew we would be mending fences, but we never thought it couldn’t be done. I didn’t realize I didn’t have _time._ ”

She coughed a laugh, the sound bitter. “Time. They had developed a magic that let them alter time. I knew about it. Dorian himself warned me. But I was afraid. The anchor… it _hurt_. And I thought channeling more magic through it would cost me my arm, if it didn’t outright kill me. I was afraid the Lord Seeker was under the corruption of red lyrium, and he was – it was even worse than that, if you can imagine. And I was afraid that the anchor would grow out of control, that I would need someone to contain it, and I couldn’t trust the mages to help me… the Templars would nullify the mark if they had to, but I was afraid I would become an object of fascination, a creature to study rather than help.”

She dragged her head up, forced herself to meet his eyes. “I killed your mother. I forced her into that place, backed her into that corner, for no other reason than I was afraid. There are no words I can give you to adequately express my regret. I am so sorry.”

“Are you done?” the King asked gently.

Evelyn’s chin jerked up in a rough nod.

Alistair leaned over and gathered her up, bringing her to her feet as he stood. “I forgive you,” he whispered. “I understand. And I don’t blame you. This world forces us to have to make choices, sometimes terrible choices, and we can’t know how they’ll play out until far later. I was raised knowing my mother was dead... finding out now that it is a different dead woman than the one I originally thought doesn't change much for me, in the grand scheme of things. Call me callous, but it's true. I appreciate how much it cost you to tell me, and I thank you.”

Evelyn nodded, still obviously heartbroken, and Alistair wrapped his arms around her. She collapsed into the hug, head buried in his shoulder, until he leaned down and whispered something into her ear. She coughed a laugh, stepped away and slapped him in the chest, and he flinched, laughing. Evelyn, shaking her head, returned to her chair near Cullen, who wasted no time in taking her hand in his and holding it tight.

Moira continued her story then, detailing her discovery of the brooches and asking Evelyn to give her rendition of their theft.

“So you have them?” Alistair said, leaning forward in his chair. Evelyn produced the red lacquered box they’d been given by Isabela, and cracked the lid enough to verify it was still full.

He laughed. “The way you kept insisting you had bad news, I was sure you had come home empty handed!”

Moira shook her head. “We might have the brooches, yes. But wearing them _increases_ the rate the Blight spreads in your body. Fiona was only a year with the wardens when she was exposed to… whatever they are. You and I have lived ten years as wardens. There’s no telling what it might do to us. None of the older wardens in their party escaped the Deep Roads. We might well have the answer… or we might have the exact opposite.”

“I can probably help with that problem,” Evelyn chimed in. “We know Maric wore one of these brooches and was unaffected, so they are likely safe to study. Duncan wore one and was unaffected because he also carried the knife. So what we need is someone who can quickly unlock the secret of these brooches and figure out a way to use them safely.”

“Dagna,” Cullen guessed her thoughts.

“Dagna?” Alistair asked. “Cute little smith caste dwarf, went to study in the Fereldan Circle?”

It was so close to what his wife had said, Evelyn couldn’t help but laugh. “The very same. Calls herself an arcanist now. We convinced her to move her workshop to Skyhold.”

“I leave two of the brooches with you, just in case. You get me a second lead box to carry the rest of them in, just in case, and I race my ass back to Skyhold and get you an answer.”

“I could spend a few weeks here convincing everyone I’m real,” Moira said slowly, “and then Alistair and I could make an official state visit to Skyhold in support of the Chantry and the Inquisition.”

“Josephine will hate me for this, but yes. I will have the invitation on the way the day after I return.”

Alistair‘s face split with a wide grin. “You and me? On the road together? Really?”

Moira laughed. “If my lord husband doesn’t mind…”

“Maker’s breath, Moira, its been years. This might be the best idea you’ve ever had. And that’s really saying something.”

“Not really, coming from the man who wanted to name his first mabari ‘Barkspawn.’ “

“Admit it, it made you laugh.”

“I admit nothing,” Moira replied, but ruined the sentiment by laughing.

They excused themselves then, explaining apologetically about ‘Warden business’ and how Moira had to tell Alistair the parts of the story that the rest of them couldn’t hear. They were met by four distinct eye rolls and their guests let them escape to their bedchamber for the homecoming Alistair had been waiting nearly two years for. The steward showed the rest of them to their rooms, Varric and Dorian each getting their own chambers somewhat near the lush apartment Evelyn and Cullen were shown into. Cullen told her it was normally reserved for visiting heads of state, and he’d been staying there alone for nearly a week as he waited for her return.

“Leliana has been sending daily ravens, likely to ensure I would have birds available to send back to her with news the instant it became available. I wrote her as soon as your ship was sighted, and promised another missive in the morning.”

“Did you get any of my messages?” Evelyn asked as she combined the contents of her saddle bags with that of the half-full trunk of her things Cullen had brought with him, making a mental inventory and setting aside everything she needed cleaned.

“Yes, actually. One came saying you’d crossed into Nevarra. And Leliana said you’d sent one from Cumberland, right after I’d left. But we got no others.”

“That’s actually all I sent,” she said, shamefaced. “There wasn’t time to send anything from Weisshaupt, and we would have beaten back anything I sent from Minrathous.”

“Isabela sent word of your plan, to have her meet you in Minrathous. She even told us what day she was expecting to see you, so we had a pretty narrow range of dates for when we thought to see you in Denerim. I of course arrived the day before your earliest possible arrival.”

“The sea was rough around Seheron, and there was the war to avoid. We passed Qunari dreadnaughts in the night, and I hope to never see them again.”

“No more of this,” Cullen said suddenly, drawing her away from the trunk and into his arms. “I don’t want to hear anything else from your lips besides my name.” He threaded his hands into her hair and dragged her lips to his. “And, perhaps, a couple other words of your choosing.”

She felt herself redden at the memory of their first night together, laughing against his mouth. “Such a limited vocabulary is dependent upon your performance, sirrah.” He was dressed formally, for a day spent in the company of a king, and she busied herself with the buttons of his coat.

“You smell like salt and sunshine,” he said, hands tightening in her hair, “and good red wine. Fantastic wine, actually.”

“I know, we should get a bottle to take home, I’m sure they would spare it.”

“Mmmm, say that again,” he said, letting go of her hair to shrug out of the coat she’d unbuttoned and then untucking his shirt.

“Home,” she said, and he hummed appreciatively. Her lips traced the contours of his throat as she worked to unlace his pants. When they had to break apart so he could pull his shirt over his head, she quickly followed suit, pulling off the simple dress she’d changed into for dinner with the King and Queen. Cullen clenched her shift in his fists as she toed off the slippers Moira had loaned her and whispered it again. “Home.”

Another hard kissed followed, and then he broke away to kick off his boots and strip from the waist down. Evelyn glanced around the room. “Where the hell is the bed?”

He indicated one of the several doors that connected to this sitting room as he pulled her back against him. “That way,” he said against her lips, and then led her in the opposite direction, towards the hearth. “Too far.”

He led her across the room as if they were dancing, fingers lifting her shift inch by inch until his rough hands found the scarred skin of her hips. “Say it again,” he demanded, tugging her shift up and over her head.

“Home,” she complied, dragging out the sound as she ducked out of the shift and tugged him down with her to the thick rug in front of the brightly lit hearth.

They fell to the floor in a tangle, skin against skin for the first time in too long, lips rushing to reclaim territory and hands searching out new scars. She twisted so she was beneath him, wrapping her legs around his hips and dragging his mouth up to meet her own. “Home,” she said again, aligning her pelvis to his and directing him up with the pressure of her heels against his thighs.

He slid into her almost by reflex, the most glorious form of muscle memory, and her back arched in response.

“Home,” he groaned against her. “Maker, it could be Skyhold or a freezing tent or a borrowed room… _this_ is home.”

He moved against her and his name was torn from her throat, followed by a garbled stream of words interspersed with gasps and his name, always his name. “I love you,” she said. “I missed you. I need you. I love you.”

Several hours and one change of scenery later, she was curled against him in the bed, feather pillows strewn about randomly and covers thrown awry.

Cullen was tracing the lines of her scars, using enough pressure to keep from tickling her. “You have a lot of new ones,” he said, and she didn’t have to listen hard to hear the disappointment in his voice.

“Most of them are from sparring with Moira and Isabela, if I’m honest,” she said, and laughed at the shocked look on his face. “Dorian is getting very good and stopping bleeding, but he hasn’t figured out how to close up the skin without leaving a scar. None of these were serious, I promise you.”

“There’s a scar from the anchor. I don’t think I noticed that before.”

She tilted her hand so she could see the palm. There was a thin line where the anchor had been. She fancied it was slightly green. “I was so glad when it was gone, I didn’t really care there was a new scar. I showed it to Moira in Wiesshaupt as a proof of identity, so it came in handy.”

“What are these from?” he asked, tracing the dozens of crossing lines across her hips. “I always wondered.”

“Its my widest point,” she said, straightening her body into a long line with her hands clasped above her head.

“Fantastic view,” he murmured, and she laughed, curling back around him. “But what does that have to do with it?”

“Breaking and entering,” she told him, proud of how steady she kept her voice. “If I’m forcing myself through a small entrance, that’s the point that’s going to get scratched up. I can’t tell you how many broken windows I’ve had to escape through… In Ostwick I figured out I need at least six inches of space to squeeze through a gap, but that’s only if its wide enough in the other dimension. The windows in the Weisshaupt vault room were about 8 inches across, but they were plenty tall enough.”

“So you went through sideways?”

“Yes.”

“How tall would the window need to be, if it was only 6 wide for you to get through?”

She laughed, and placed his hands on her hips. “About this wide,” she said.

“So all of these are from crawling through windows?”

“And storm drains. And bars in prison cells. And sewer pipes. And-“

“Forget I asked,” he cut her off grimly, making her laugh again.

Now that they’d started, all the stories came out. The thick ridge across his shoulder from a barfight in Kirkwall. The long line bisecting the bottom of her foot from a bad drop into a glass skylight. The slice on his lip from the night Anders blew up the Chantry. The line over her ear from the Terror just outside Skyhold. The 17 individual knife wounds across his body from his torture in Kinloch. The jagged line across her left palm that marked where the anchor had been. According to Cullen, six new lines since the last time they were together. And they each had dozens of fine lines they couldn’t remember earning, testament to lives lived by the sword.

“Can I say I would rather your skin stay intact?” he whispered as he traced her collarbone with his lips.

“Say it all you want,” she answered a bit sadly, threading a hand through his hair. “I don’t see either of us settling into a life without risk any time soon.”

He sighed, turning his head to rest against her chest, listening to the sound of her heart. “A Knight-Captain I served under, long ago, once told me that life _is_ risk. The older I get, the more sense that makes.”

She had no answer for him. She ran her hands through his hair, against his scalp, until she felt his breath take on the familiar cadence of sleep, and then she drifted off to join him in the fade.


	15. Reconnecting

Two ravens left Denerim the next morning, as one bird would have been overburdened by the news they had to share with Skyhold. Evelyn crafted letters for Dagna, Leliana, and Josephine separately, while Moira and Alistair co-authored a letter for Leliana. Cullen had orders to send along to Killeen, as well as (surprisingly) a note for Josephine that Evelyn wasn’t allowed to see.

“You know damn well what it’s about,” he told her, holding it out of her reach, “and you can just wait and be surprised.”

“You were more fun when you were scared of me,” she snarked, and he laughed.

“I was never scared of you,” he said as he helped her seal the missives and hand them off to the bird handler. “Awestruck, yes. Helplessly infatuated, yes. And I had the good graces to be ashamed of being covetous. But never afraid.”

She smirked at him. “That was a very good answer.”

“I’ve been working on it for awhile. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to use it.”

“Nope, ruined. You’ve spent too much time with Alistair.”

Alistair’s wife appeared shortly thereafter, with another last-minute message to Dagna. “I figured she might like to hear from me, rather just have me be referred to by others. She’s doing me a favor, after all.” They added this missive to the rest and let the birds fly, Moira leading the way back to the throne room where she expected to be trapped all day by well-wishers.

“Moira…” Evelyn said, as they strode down the hall to meet Alistair in the antechamber where the king had his first audience with the Inquisition. “Are you alright?”

She was wearing her crown and her robes of state, but Cullen didn’t notice anything else amiss. “Of course I am,” she said, confused, as she opened the door and Alistair came into view. “Why do you ask?”

Evelyn was fighting to keep a straight face. “Because… you’re walking… a bit funny.”

Moira coughed a laugh, but Alistair flushed deeply, and Cullen couldn’t help but blush a little in sympathy. “I suppose I am,” the Queen said, a bit smugly, and managed to slap Alistair’s ass on the way past him into the throne room. The king himself had to fight to control the color in his face, a battle easier won when Cullen removed the cackling Evelyn from the room. “You’re welcome!” she called over her shoulder as Cullen shut the door. They both leaned on the wall and laughed for a long time before making their way back up to their rooms.

Their time with the royals was rapidly drawing to a close, as they were only spending enough time in Denerim to organize their trip back to Skyhold. Cullen had come with a full regiment of Inquisition soldiers, who were lounging in Fort Drakon and likely seeing this trip as a pleasure tour. Evelyn’s gear was in shambles from the long trip by sea, and she had everything cleaned before packing it away in the trunk Cullen brought for her. The trunks were going onto a supply cart meant for fast travel, allowing Evelyn to ride the horses Dorian had bought in Cumberland. Dorian was planning to return to Skyhold with them, as it was the fastest way to return to Minrathous if he decided to go. Varric, however, was staying in Denerim until Moira and Alistair left for Skyhold, and then was taking ship back to Kirkwall.

“I love ya, Knuckles. You know that. But I’m getting way too old for this shit.”

“And you’ve got about a dozen books to write, I’m sure.”

“I’ve got enough material to keep me in best sellers for a decade. Just so long as you keep sending me updates, I’ll never have to leave the Hanged Man again.”

“That is the best incentive I’ve ever heard to be a poor correspondent.”

“Maybe you and Curly can come up and visit again sometime. This time let it be for pleasure instead of business, okay?”

Evelyn pulled the dwarf in for a hug. “I’ll miss you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I also know you know where to find me.”

She laughed and agreed, and let him walk away.

Her goodbyes with the King and Queen of Ferelden were conducted in private, so her leave-taking in the Great Hall was a formal affair. What few courtiers were in Denerim were present as Evelyn and Cullen in their Inquisition armor made a perfectly acceptable and courtly farewell. Moira had coached Evelyn to treat with them as mutually respecting equals, as they were both arguably one step below the Sunburst Throne in terms of status in Southern Thedas.

The streets were lined as they rode out, men and women clambering to get a glimpse of the Inquisitor, the rumor already rampant that she had been sent to either fetch or rescue the Queen – and succeeded.

“That’s probably the only story they’re going to get, too,” Cullen remarked.

Evelyn laughed. “Since Varric has been forbidden from writing the true story, you’re probably right.”

The ride across Ferelden was flawless; the weather was cooperative, the morale was high, and the road was clear. Evelyn didn’t have to draw her daggers once; that if nothing else told her that the world had changed for the better.

“Have we done it?” she asked as they crossed into Orlais and began the final approach into Skyhold.

“Done what?”

“Actually brought order to a world in chaos.”

“Well, to the northern part of Ferelden, at least,” Cullen agreed. “The Qun is still warring with Tevinter, the Free Marches are still struggling to determine which end is up, and Antiva is… full of Antivans.”

“You have spent _far_ too long with Alistair,” Evelyn laughed.

“I’m sure we could find some Avvar who don’t want you around, or some holdout mages or Templars causing trouble somewhere. And too much order will cause the Orlesian nobility to start stirring up trouble.”

“Okay, okay. Point taken.”

“You almost seem disappointed.”

She smiled at him, a bit sadly. “I am. But you’re right. We’re not done.”

“And what would you do if we were done?” he asked, looking for the source of her discontent.

“Find a little corner of the world we could be alone, we could call our own. Maybe kick around the idea of starting a family.”

Cullen sighed. “And now I hate myself for disagreeing with you. Is it too late to say yes, yes we’ve brought order to the world?”

It earned him a small laugh. “Definitely too late.”

Cullen was nearly despondent for the rest of the ride, mentally berating himself for not realizing what she wanted. Of course she would be looking for a home, a family… she’d just sent Varric _home_ , Dorian was constantly debating whether or not to go _home_ , she’d just brought the Hero of Ferelden _home_. The night she returned to Denerim, they’d spoken of nearly nothing else. It was his personal goal since he had woken up from lyrium withdrawals, and he had completely sabotaged it with a few thoughtless sentences.

There were mountains of work waiting for them when they returned to Skyhold, and Cullen didn’t see Evelyn for two solid days. He knew she came in at night because she was there when he stumbled awake in the morning, but she didn’t wake him when she came to bed and he didn’t wake her when he left it; they had always kept different schedules.

She was spending her days with Josephine and Leliana, catching up on everything that happened in her absence, and creating contingency plans in case her act of larceny in Weisshaupt came back to haunt them. Josephine was thrown into a near panic when Evelyn announced her intention to invite the King and Queen of Ferelden to Skyhold for a state visit, and Leliana didn’t react much better. Plans for housing and entertaining the monarchs were added on top of the already crushing workload. She picked up dinner in the kitchens on her way to the undercroft, and stayed with Dagna well into the night, answering as best she could the arcanist’s questions about the source and actions of the materials she’d stolen.

Cullen was similarly engaged, sorting through reports from the previous month he’d been away. The manpower needed to repair the last of the tower rooms and create a suite literally fit for a king fell largely to him, as did the ongoing hunt for Messenger Lyle’s missing Templar sister. She had never appeared on the roles for the Inquisition, which meant she’d either fallen at Therinfall Redoubt or rebelled and been lost in their war with the mages. Somewhere, someone would know. He brought Leliana into the investigation, and they spent long hours deliberating where to send her scouts to cover the most ground. Contingency planning in case of a Warden reprisal was next on his list, once Leliana and Josephine could be brought to agree on what form that would likely take. There wasn’t much he could do to better prepare Skyhold for an invasion than what had already been done during the War of the Breach.

He still wore armor every day, although he had switched over to the Inquisition standard when Evelyn and Divine Victoria had brought the Inquisition into the Chantry and formalized the heraldry. There was a note tucked into his half plate the third morning he woke up in Skyhold. He glanced over to see Evelyn was snoring lightly from where she lay nearly hanging off side of the bed, her face mostly buried in her pillow and the knuckles of her right hand resting on the floor. The note was simple and concise, in her sprawling font.

 

_Dinner. Tonight. Your old room. Normal time. My treat._

_I miss you._

 

He crossed to her desk after he’d finished dressing, and wrote a reply.

 

_I’ll bring the wine. Wouldn’t miss it for the world._

 

He folded it in half and cast about for a place to leave it. Her clothes were scattered across the floor, and there was no telling whether she would bother to brush her intentionally messy hair on any given day. He didn’t even know if she was bathing in the nights or in the morning, it had been so long since they’d been in Skyhold together.

With a smirk, he stumbled across a solution, and pulled one of the laces from her boot. He cut a small hole near the fold of the note and threaded the lace through, and then tied it gently to her wrist. The lace was long enough – she wore tall boots – that he tied the other end to the bedpost, fighting to keep from laughing as he did it.

Hopefully, waking up to find herself tied to the bedpost would set the mood for their evening. He could only hope.

He had procured a bottle of the fine red they’d so enjoyed in Denerim from Alistair before leaving, and he dug that out of her as-yet-unpacked trunk and took it with him to his office that morning. He met with Josephine and Leliana before Evelyn even awoke, and was safely ensconced in his office when she finally made her way to the war room that afternoon.

It was still several hours before he expected the Inquisitor when the east door to his office – the one that opened to the walkway that led directly to the main building and the great hall – blew open to admit Leliana. The Nightingale threw the door closed behind her as if she bursting with energy – a display quite abnormal for her. He had one soldier with him at the time – Higgins, by chance, the man had either the best or the worst luck – and Cullen quickly finished the report the man waited for and sent him on his way.

“Can I help you, Sister Leliana?” he asked mildly.

“What did you _do_?” she asked, crossing the room quickly.

“What did I do?”

“To Evelyn! When she came into the war room I thought she was angry, but then she _stuttered_. I’ve never once heard her stutter! And when I asked her about it, she _blushed_. Blushed! I haven’t seen her blush in months! She didn’t blush at her own wedding!”

Cullen immediately resolved to keep his peace, but his face gave him away. “I knew it! Tell me. You must tell me.”

He shook his head, laughing, and feeling the blush rise on his neck. “I really shouldn’t.”

“I will find out,” she threatened, and he didn’t doubt her for a moment. The idea of months spent trying to deflect the Nightingale’s questions didn’t seem worth it, not when the truth was so simple.

“She left me a note this morning, saying she missed me and asking if we could meet tonight for dinner. Innocent enough, I suppose… we haven’t spoken in nearly three days, we’ve been so busy. I couldn’t find a place to leave my reply and be sure she’d find it. She’s not exactly the most organized when she’s busy.”

Leliana scoffed. “She’s not the most organized, ever, unless she’s worried about something.”

Cullen had to stop for a moment to consider the point. “You know, you’re right. I hadn’t thought about that before but-“

“What did you _do_ , Cullen.”

“I unlaced one of her boots and tied the message to her wrist. Even if it pulled off her wrist, I figured she’d have to go looking for her boot lace. And then… well, since her laces are so long… I tied the other end to the bedpost.”

Leliana threw back her head and laughed.

“Oh, I owe you one! Thank you!” And she darted out of the room.

Cullen was suddenly afraid he had made a very big mistake… either in the act itself or in telling the Nightingale about it.

The change of watch coincided with the kitchen’s serving of dinner, so fourth watch could eat before the shift and third watch could eat after. He could hear the conversations and extra footfalls that spoke of the change, and gave his men time to report to him if need be before climbing the ladder to the second floor.

She’d asked him not to seal the hole in his ceiling, and he had mostly acquiesced; the gap had been squared off and fitted with a trapdoor, a short ladder resting against the wall a short ways away in case Cullen wanted to use the roof as a reprieve. The trapdoor bore no lock, and so the Inquisitor could still let herself in the hard way, as she liked to call it.

She had done so this evening, somehow carrying a basket of food up with her. Cullen had studied the walls of his tower one afternoon trying to figure out how she got in from the roof and never came up with an easy solution. He’d never asked, either – it seemed like one of those things he was better off not knowing.

The room was made up as it had been before he moved into the Inquisitor’s tower, although none of his personal effects were here anymore. He sometimes slept here when she was gone if he was overworked, so the bed was made and the room itself clean.

His lady wife had spread their dinner out across the bed, and he carried the bottle of wine over and set it in the bucket of ice she had waiting for it. He suspected the ice had come from Dorian, but it was possible there’d been some brought down from the mountains that day.

She had stood up when he reached the top of the ladder, and took his hands after he let go of the wine, pulling them around her and stepping into his embrace. “Hello,” he greeted her.  
“Good evening,” she replied. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in days.”

“Well, you haven’t. Not awake, at least.”

“I’m sure you have all the news I do, at least from Leliana and Josephine,” she said, leading him to the bed and encouraging him to sit. “So we can actually enjoy each other’s company for a few minutes, before we both launch back into work.”

“I would like that,” he said with a smile, and they both set into the meal she’d brought.

“Dagna has a couple of very solid theories,” Evelyn said awhile later, as Cullen opened the bottle of wine and she dug two wine glasses out of the basket she’d smuggled into his room.

“I’m very happy for that,” Cullen said, and meant it. “But we’re not talking about work.”

Evelyn laughed. “Is that work? I thought it was a favor for a friend.”

“You could twist everything the Inquisition has done into just a favor for a friend.”

“Alright, I won’t argue semantics with you. Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

Cullen poured the wine and handed her a glass, and then they worked for a moment to clear the dishes off the bed. Evelyn set the basket on the floor, the wine bucket next to it, and Cullen settled his back against the headboard. Evelyn sat down next to him, hips to knees, and laid her free hand gently on his thigh. “What is it?” she asked when he didn’t answer.

“We will never be done,” he said finally, despairing of ever choosing the right words. “When we were coming back into Skyhold, I said something foolish, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true. There will always be another battle for you to fight. Moira and Alistair have been together for ten years now, and the look on his face when he thought they would get to go on a trip together was heartbreaking to me. I don’t want that to be us. I don’t want us to constantly wait for the world to be perfect before we take a corner of it for our own.”

Evelyn captured his free hand in hers and squeezed it gently. “Until then, the corner of the world that is our own will have to be Skyhold. Until there’s someone else to take the reins of the Inquisition, or the Inquisition is disbanded – which won’t happen now that it encompasses the Templars – or it relocates, I have to be where the Inquisition is. We both do… unless you intend to step down, and Maker forgive me I just might kill you if you try.”

Cullen smiled at the threat, but quickly sobered. “So that’s it, then? We are the Inquisition, and nothing more?”

“Of course not. We are much more. But retiring to the countryside is going to have to wait a decade or three.”

She watched him close his eyes, and wondered what he was steeling himself against. “Cullen, what is it? You can tell me.”

“Three decades from now is far too late to start a family,” he said, the words barely more than a whisper.

Her heart surged into her throat. “Is that what you’re worried about? That by the time things have calmed down enough for us to start, it will be too late?”

“Almost. I’m worried that by the time you’re convinced things have calmed down enough, it will be too late for us to start.”

It was a subtle difference, and she could understand why he was hesitant to voice it, and she said as much to him.

He looked relieved. “You’re younger than me, and I understand that might not be something you’ve really spent a lot of time considering, and I don’t want you to feel rushed – never want you to feel compelled to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Evelyn laughed at the rush of words. “I’m not _that_  much younger than you. What, five years?”

Cullen smirked. “Eight.”

“Really? Okay, you _are_ old. No! Don’t tickle, I’ll spill the wine…”

He put his hands up in a sign of truce. “That will not go unpunished, my lady,” he threatened.

“You started it.” She shifted so she was sitting across his lap, her knees draped over his thighs and her head resting on his shoulder. “Do I think I could afford to be pregnant right now? No. Not with our worries about a reprisal from the Wardens and with Blight-cursed artifacts in the undercroft. I don’t want any child of mine to grow up without a mother around, and until I feel my life is secure enough to put a child into it, I wouldn’t feel right starting a family. That said, Cullen, I definitely do want your children. And I would rather it be sooner rather than later.”

He let out a long breath she didn’t realize he had been holding. “You know, you’ve never actually said that before.”

“I know. I couldn’t think about it when we first talked about it, before Corypheus was dead. And then we got married and Cassandra became the Divine and we ran back and forth to Val Royeaux and it just never came up again. But I do. I do, Cullen, I want to bear your children. And I don’t want to wait until I’m Moira’s age to do it.”

“Thank you,” he said, and pulled her tight against him.

“You’re quite welcome, I suppose,” she laughed.

“Your plan to invite the royals to Skyhold quite neatly sabotaged our agreed-upon honeymoon, by the way.”

“Fuck,” Evelyn replied succinctly. “Can it be rescheduled?”

“Well, yes, I suppose it _can_. But the point was to force work to conform to life, rather than the opposite.”

Evelyn sighed. “I’m sorry. I was honestly looking forward to it. Maybe we can take some time with Alistair and Moira? Have them go with us somewhere? Call it a state visit.”

“You want to invite another couple along on our honeymoon?”

“If we manage to cure the calling, they might want a second honeymoon.”

Cullen laughed, but didn’t have any other response for her. It was mentally scratched onto his list to discuss later.

“What do you have on your agenda for the rest of the evening?” he asked a few minutes later.

“I have to stop in to see Dagna, of course. But after that I hoped to get my revenge for the way I woke up this morning.”

With her head against his chest, she could hear his heart rate quicken, and she had to fight to swallow a grin.

“I thought my note was innocent enough. And I was sure you would find it, since even if your hand came loose you would need to look for your boot lace.”

“Hmm, interesting take on the situation. Very interesting. Maybe you can come with me to check in on Dagna, and then we can discuss it further?”

“I think I can agree to those terms,” he said mildly, his pulse giving him away.

They packed up what was left of the wine and Cullen carried the basket to the kitchen before taking Dagna’s favorite side passage to the undercroft. The dwarf gave him a very smug look when he walked in, and he noticed Evelyn had picked up a heavy black bag that was clinking lightly when it moved. They were discussing the ebon brooches, and he found it hard to pay attention to exactly what they were saying, as his mind kept skipping forward in time to when he would actually be in bed with his wife.

And then she was leaving, headed up the stairs to the main hall and there was something magnetic about the sway of her hips, the way she swung that mysterious bag as she walked. He looked up as they crossed the hall, but so many of their closest friends had left, there weren’t many people around who would stop them. Cole seemed to flicker in and out of existence, going wherever he thought he could help, which often wasn’t Skyhold anymore; Varric was back in Kirkwall; Vivienne, Sera, the Iron Bull and Bull’s chargers were all in Val Royeaux with Cassandra – Divine Victoria. Blackwall had left to join the Wardens for real, and Solas had vanished into thin air. Only Dorian remained, and Cullen didn’t honestly know where the mage was spending his time of late.

But then they were across the hall and heading up the long stairs to the apartments they shared at the top of the tower. The tower had been remodeled extensively in Evelyn’s absence, requiring Cullen to move back into his old rooms for a time and forcing the other tenants – an elven couple who served as Evelyn’s personal assistant and steward, Aieyla and Mahvrin – to be relocated to another part of the keep entirely. There were now four rooms stacked in the tower, with the one long staircase winding back and forth across two walls instead of wrapping around all four. Aieyla and Mahvrin had claimed the bottom room when it was completed, and seemed relieved to have fewer stairs to walk when Evelyn wasn’t in residence. The next two were unoccupied, and Josephine was hard at work converting them into apartments fit for the visiting Fereldan royalty. The Inquisitor’s chambers occupied the top, and they had been left almost untouched in the remodel. The hearth was made slightly smaller, to accommodate the chimneys of the rooms below, and converting all the open space of the tower into livable apartments with heat and insulation had dramatically increased the ambient temperature of the rooms at the top. Their room was almost comfortable now, and if the fire got hot enough they would need to open up the doors to the balcony for ventilation.

Evelyn usually had the balcony doors open, however, as she liked to retreat onto the roof of the tower, where she and Leliana met to spar whenever they both had free time and could slip away.

He was lost in thought throughout the climb to the top, his gaze hopelessly trapped by the swing in Evelyn’s hips. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew she didn’t usually walk that way… he would have noticed before now, surely.

She pushed open the door at the top and walked through, leaving him to close the door behind them. He stopped in front of the armor stand and worked his half plate off, hanging it up and placing his padded under layer neatly beside it. Evelyn wasn’t in sight when he finished, but he could hear her running and bath in the adjoining chamber, and she reappeared before he could cross the distance.

“We are taking a bath,” she said, in a tone that brokered no argument. She pulled open the bag she’d brought up from the undercroft and threw it to the floor at his feet. The contents looked suspiciously like soft leather manacles. “And you are going to do as I say this evening. Any comments or complaints can be voiced from right now until I am naked in the bath, and then I will be revenged.”

“Did you have Dagna make those?” he asked, incredulously.

“Leliana did,” Evelyn said evenly, unbuttoning her ivory coat and sliding it off her shoulders. “Since you so kindly told her of your message for me this morning, she had them commissioned as a gift.”

Cullen swallowed hard, and toed out of his boots before slowly stripping out of his shirt and trews.

Evelyn left her boots and pants laying on the floor and stepped to the tub.

She paused before climbing in, the heating rune at the bottom of the tub causing the water to bubble invitingly. “That’s it?”

He took a deep breath and met her gaze, moving to the side of the tub. He took her by the arms and lifted her into the water, getting in beside her and sinking down. She blinked at him, surprised, and he only smiled in return before raising his hands, palms up. “My lady’s wish is my command,” he said simply.

He received a wicked smile in return.


	16. Theories on Wardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theory time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beginning is vaguely NSFW

Cullen woke up the next morning with one wrist shackled to his wife, and the other manacled but free. There were pillows strewn literally across the room, and one of them had opened up in an explosion of feathers. There were no blankets on the bed, and before the remodel Cullen would have been freezing, but there was a low fire still burning in the hearth and the balcony doors were all closed. He also suspected the heating rune had been left forgotten in the tub, because there was a definite mist in the air of their apartment.

His lovely wife was sprawled perpendicular to him in the bed, facedown, her forehead on his stomach, and her right hand entwined with his left – conveniently, as those were the wrists she had shackled together. They were laying strangely crosswise, with his head in one corner and her feet in another. His right foot was draped over the edge of the bed, bent at the knee, and the sunlight streaming through the windows told him the hour was very late.

The sound of her breathing told him she was awake. “You’re going to have to either find the key or pick the lock,” he said without preamble.

Evelyn laughed. “Well, good morning to you too.”

“A very good morning,” he agreed. “But it is rapidly becoming afternoon, and if we don’t appear soon Leliana might come looking for us.”

That got her moving. She dragged him across the room to her desk and retrieved the spare key she had hidden there – as the key they had been using disappeared in the bedding and contributed to the disarray of the room. Contributed only; the room had been pretty well demolished long before that point. Once his wrists were free, Cullen wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close for a kiss. “Tell me again what I did to deserve that, and I’ll do it more often.”

She laughed, blushing prettily. “Maybe I just like to remind you from time to time that I’m in charge?”

Cullen’s laugh joined hers. “Not like I could ever forget that, Your Worship.”

She slapped him gently on the shoulder, and he retaliated with another kiss. But then they were getting dressed and headed to the war room and somehow Leliana didn’t manage to bring up their tardiness _once_.

Josephine had received a reply from Denerim; Alistair and Moira were due to arrive in ten days. Evelyn assigned Leliana to curb Josephine’s excesses, knowing the former Bard had a firmer grasp of what would make the monarchs comfortable than the very proper Ambassador.

“They’re Wardens, Josie,” the Nightingale was saying as Evelyn excused herself from the war room to meet again with Dagna. “And they’re Fereldan. They’ll likely bring dogs with them. Stick with linen and cotton and fur for their rooms.”

Dagna was better company, in Evelyn’s opinion. At least she was today.

“I’m not Leliana, I don’t want to know,” she said in lieu of a greeting as Evelyn entered the undercroft.

“Thank the Maker,” Evelyn replied with a laugh.

“I think I have a working theory for how these brooches work,” the arcanist said, directing Evelyn’s attention to a heavy glass dome covering the bits of not-obsidian. The glass was clouded, and Evelyn leaned forward to see thousands of tiny runes etched into the surface. “Cleansing runes?”

“Close,” Dagna verified. “Slightly different. Provides protection against the Blight, rather than offense. And its leaded glass.”

“You’re not fucking around.”

“Dwarves have a resistance to magic, not the Blight. I’ve seen one too many genlocks to trust my stone skin against this.”

“I don’t blame you. So what have you figured out?”

“Emissaries – the darkspawn that use magic – have a completely different kind of magic than the other races. It was always assumed that they were using the blight itself to power their spells, and the red lyrium I’ve encountered has added strength to that theory. These? Absolutely confirm it.”

“Alright, I follow.”

“From what you told me and what I read of Fiona’s story, it seems First Enchanter Remille worked with this Architect to combine the two. These brooches are like a concentrated dose of blight… darkspawn taint, if you prefer the term. They are beacons for the architect, you can see by these two runes there, on the back, beneath the clasp. But each one also contains enough of the blight to turn every soldier in the inquisition into a ghoul… or a Warden. They’re that powerful. That’s why they hid the Wardens from the darkspawn in the Deep Roads – they blended in with the blight they walked through.”

“So four of those…”

“There isn’t a way to get the taint out of the brooches and infect the men, if that’s what you’re worried about. But I suspect if you wore one long enough, you might start to hear the darkspawn.”

“Hear them? Like with the Calling?”

“Wardens who came into Orzammar on the Calling would speak of the song of the darkspawn… a relentless humming in their ears. Darkspawn have a hive mind. They aren’t individuals so much as parts to a whole. If you kill one darkspawn, all the rest know one of them has fallen, and you end up getting swarmed. That’s what makes the Deep Roads so dangerous. Well, one of the reasons. But since these are beacons as well as super concentrated darkspawn taint, it’s very likely Maric heard the humming while he was in the Deep Roads, even if he didn’t know what it was.”

“That’s creepy.”

“That’s not the worst of it. They’re not onyx. They’re not obsidian. They’re lyrium.”

“What?”

“I told you red lyrium is lyrium that had been exposed to the blight? The only stone that can have the blight _in it_ is lyrium, because lyrium is the only stone that is alive. It grows. You’re looking at me like I have two heads, Inquisitor.”

“I’m sorry, I just… _this_ is red lyrium?”

“Not red lyrium, not anymore. But you can see the swimming flecks of red, especially in the dagger, if you look hard enough. Think of it this way… blue lyrium is like a regular person. Red lyrium is that person when they become a warden, or have the blight sickness. _This_ lyrium? This is the arch demon of lyrium. One fleck of this would turn an entire vein red in a day. This might even be what they’re using to seed the red lyrium you’ve been finding across Ferelden and Orlais.”

“So this is bad.”

“This is beyond bad. This is heinous.”

“So how did _this_ remove the taint from Fiona?”

“This is the part you’re not going to like.”

Evelyn felt her jaw drop. “And the rest of it was, what? A pleasant interlude?”

“Comparatively? Maybe. According to the papers you brought back with the brooches, there was a fight in the Circle Tower, when they confronted Remille.  Apparently Remille had some form of spell that would dissolve the wardens, render them into disgusting piles of goo. Likely, it was something that latched onto the taint and caused it to expand exponentially until it overwhelmed and then destroyed the wardens. It was cast like a black fire. He cast it at Fiona, and she cast fire in retaliation, and they held those spells against each other in a battle of wills. The strength necessary to keep that up is impressive to calculate-“

“Nope. Stay on target.”

“Right. Remille was slain by Duncan right as his spell overcame Fiona’s, but before he was actually able to kill her with it. I think that was what stripped the taint from Fiona… not the spell Remille cast, but the massive expenditure of mana cast expressly _against_ the taint, while wearing one of these brooches.”

“You lost me.”

“I studied magic in the Fereldan Circle. I sat in with new apprentices as they were learning magical theory. Learning to cast magic has very little to do with ability; if you needed to study before you could do it, you wouldn’t see children manifest and freeze over their gardens and be taken away by Templars. Learning to do magic is all about _intent_. That’s why the Circle would send apprentices into the Fade for their Harrowing; battling with a demon was the last great lesson in intent. You had to _want_ to get out of the Fade, you had to _want_ to live, you had to _want_ to be a mage. It is intent that shapes magic, and will is the measure of intent. When Fiona was fighting Remille, she was literally willing the taint away from herself.”

“If that’s all it took, wouldn’t a Warden mage have discovered it by now?”

Dagna shook her head. “Not unless they were wearing one of these. It’s a focus.”

“Why should that matter?”

Dagna pushed herself onto her workbench, and gestured for Evelyn to take the chair.

“This is one of those things that I’m 99% certain is fact, but I can’t test it. Could never test it. And the mere suggestion would be devastating.”

“Alright…”

“I think if a Warden was completely alone – never ran into a single darkspawn or another Warden – their bodies would eventually destroy the taint. I think a Warden alone would never hear the Calling.”

Evelyn felt her jaw drop again – twice in one conversation was a record, even with Dagna.

“The darkspawn are a hive mind. They cannot function alone. It drives them to dig for the old gods to become their archdemons, to give them order and purpose. Alone, all they do is search for a leader. The taint has long resisted being studied, because it doesn’t survive long in a lab. Not unless you give your lab over to it… but again. Alone, it withers. There is so much of it in the Deep Roads now, I doubt we’ll ever truly be rid of it. But alone, on the surface? If Wardens didn’t search out darkspawn, if they didn’t live together in groups, they might eventually overcome the taint.”

Dagna waited until Evelyn nodded understanding before she continued. “Wearing one of those brooches was like being surrounded in a sea of darkspawn. And thus it accelerated the progression of the blight sickness in the Wardens who wore it. The taint is strengthened by proximity to other sources of the blight, exponentially so. So as blight sources, as well as _beacons,_  these would draw and excite the taint present in the wardens. Fiona wearing it when she fought Remille focused the taint within her to a point that she then siphoned away. In other news, you were very wise to store these brooches in a lead box, away from Moira.”

“I have more questions now than before,” Evelyn admitted after a moment’s thought.

“I know! Isn’t it wonderful?”

She managed not to scowl at the arcanist, but only just barely. “First, what does the dagger do? Second, does the lyrium in these pose risk to the keep… this place is full of Templars. Third, I can see how the brooches could be used to facilitate a cure for Warden mages, but what about the rest of the Wardens?”

“Let’s just start with those. I’m sure we’ll get more as we go,” Dagna said happily. Evelyn settled in for a long day.

“The dagger is made of the same substance as the brooches, but the runing is inverted. That means that when it was created… no, nevermind. Bottom line, it serves to negate the brooches. Remille made it first, I suspect, and used it to keep himself safe from the taint while he formed the brooches and did the runeworking. The dagger is completely safe to be handled… in terms of the blight. It is still lyrium, so someone who is sensitive to lyrium – Commander Cullen, for example – would need to be kept from it.”

“Commander Cullen… but what about the rest of the Templars?”

“They would likely hear the same singing that they report hearing from red lyrium… but unless they directly handled it or tried to _eat_ it they would likely be fine. The singing they hear from red lyrium, incidentally, is likely the same singing the Wardens hear in their Calling. It is the same blight, after all, the same hive mind.”

“Why is Cullen different?”

“Because he quit taking lyrium,” Dagna said, frowning comically. “You know that. You were there.”

“Wouldn’t he be _less_ sensitive, now that he’s broken the addiction?”

Dagna shook her head vigorously. “Quite the opposite. He’s sensitized to it, now. Even a tiny bit would make him violently ill. Maybe lethally so. As time goes on, he’ll become _more_ sensitive to lyrium, not less. He shouldn't be allowed in the undercroft once I start experimenting with the brooches.”

Third jaw drop. “Lyrium could _kill him_ now?”

Dagna nodded. “Did you not know that? I forget that surfacers have less information about lyrium. I’ll write you up a fact sheet on lyrium sensitivity to use when you counsel your Templars on whether or not to quit taking it.”

Evelyn covered her face with her hands. “This might be a disaster already.”

“Back to your questions… I told you we’d end up with more. What can we do for the non-magic-wielding wardens? That’s where I need your help. And your express permission. And maybe a waiver.”

“I’m listening.”

“Mages channel magic through their staves – it allows them greater control with less effort, saving them a great deal of fatigue. Arguably, a mage could channel through _any_ thing as long as they’re reasonably aware of what it is they’re doing. So, arguably, a mage who’d been trained in the Circles, who is conscientious about intent and how to channel, could channel their magic through another person, through a brooch, and into something else… a containment vessel, of sorts.”

“So you want to ask Moira to put on one of these brooches, and allow a mage to channel a ridiculous amount of power through her and the brooch, and then… what? You’ll have a little bucket of taint for her to take home as a souvenir?”

“Close. Instead of bucket, it needs to be a piece of lyrium. A tiny one, a sliver really. And I’ll have it adequately contained. I’m not going to be making mass quantities of red lyrium, don’t worry. And instead of a mage, it needs to be you.”

Evelyn considered just leaving her jaw open. “Me? I’ve definitely never studied how to channel magic. I _can't_ channel magic, I'm not a mage.”

“No, but the anchor produces a much more concentrated and controllable stream of energy. Also, since it is pulling its power directly from the Fade, it should be more conducive to funneling the taint out of the host and into the lyrium. Which, coincidentally, also comes from the Fade. Think of it like… people are mostly water. The taint, and the lyrium, and the Fade; they’re more like oil. The taint would much rather be in oil than water, so using the energy from the Fade rifts will pull the taint out of the hosts – the wardens – much more effectively than magic ultimately created and shaped by a human.”

“Dagna, the anchor is _gone_.”

The arcanist sighed. “Corypheus told you it was _permanent_. Just because it isn’t active doesn’t mean it’s not there.”


	17. Method and Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dagna is a scientist, and experimentation is necessary. And then Evelyn pisses off... pretty much everybody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am making this one HUGE because I don't like any of the other options for where I could have cut it.

The argument could only be settled with proof, so in the end it was decided that Dorian, Dagna, Evelyn, a leaded box full of blighted lyrium, and a crated rabbit set out for the ruins of Haven. Evelyn had explained it to her war council as a simple outing, and nothing to be concerned over. They were all so busy that no one had time to question the afternoon away. There was a unit of Inquisition soldiers and Templars in Haven overseeing the excavation and rebuilding efforts, as well as recovery of remains. Evelyn intended to stay in Haven for a couple days, and would appropriate a raven from the post there to make her apologies.

They picked Haven because it was the last known site of any rifts; Evelyn had been in too big of a hurry to stop Corypheus to make sure every rift opened under the Breach had been properly closed, and if there were any left nearby, they would be here.

They rode harts, the best option in the mountains, and the road under construction from Haven to Skyhold made the journey the work of a long morning… a welcome change from the grueling days it had taken the army and refugees to make the trip through the heavy snow when Haven fell. They rode into Haven just after the noon meal, and there was a small amount left for the three of them to partake in before setting out for the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Evelyn started to feel it – the ache in her left arm – some two or three hundred paces up the mountain. She tugged off her left glove and saw the scar across her left hand faintly glowing green. Tears streamed uncontrollably down her face.

“No,” she said, drawing the attention of Dorian and Dagna. “No. Maker, please, no. I thought it was over.”

Dorian took her hand in his – covering the mark with his own palm – and drew it out of her line of sight. “It is over. This changes nothing. The Breach is closed, Corypheus is dead, and there are no swarms of demons on this mountain. The fact that you just learned you still have a little bit of magic in you doesn’t alter the past. It doesn’t erase your success.”

She nodded, fighting back sobs that threatened to take her off her mount. Dagna calmly took the reins from Evelyn’s weak grasp and led the Inquisitor’s mount up the mountain.

It took an hour to find – a shimmering spot in the air that made Evelyn’s hand twinge and the scarline spread open.

“It must be what happened to the rifts that were open when the Breach was closed,” Dagna said, walking around the strangely twisting air with a thoughtful frown. “There might be spots like this all over southern Thedas. We should have Leliana’s scouts try to pinpoint them… might be useful to know where these were left.”

“What is it? It’s not an open rift, and there are no reports of demons on the mountain.”

“A weak spot in the veil,” Dorian said, standing directly under it. “I’ve never said this before, but I wish Solas was here.”

“I’ve said that a dozen times, easily. He could have helped Anders. Cole almost seems lost without him. And now this?”

Evelyn shifted to address Dagna. “So a weak spot in the veil will bring the anchor back to life?”

“In a manner of speaking. I contend that, since by nature of being human you have some connection to the Fade, you could bring the anchor “back to life” at will. Were you a dwarf… well. Thankfully you’re not. That saves us a few steps. As it is, being here might make this easier for you.”

“And what is it that we’re going to do?”

“I’ve got one of the vials of darkspawn blood you brought to me from the incursion on the Storm Coast. I’m going to take a pin and scratch this rabbit’s ear, and then mix a droplet of the tainted blood with the rabbit’s. That should be enough to start with.”

“Blighted rabbits? Is that wise?”

“Not even remotely. That’s why you’re going to clean the taint out of it.”

“And then Dorian is here because…?”

“As you said, you never learned how to channel magic, seeing as how you’re not a mage. I suspect you’ll need some advice on how best to focus the stream of Fade energies. Your practice with closing the rifts hasn’t readied you for this – you were merely allowing a connection between the anchor and the rifts. Now, you’re going to be using the anchor to draw energy from the Fade and focusing it in a completely different direction.”

The single rabbit – now slightly blighted – was gently strapped onto a flat rock, and given a pile of greens to munch on. One of the black brooches was tied around its neck with a bow. It seemed quite content. Evelyn felt ridiculous – and guilty. “Why are we doing this to the poor bunny, again?”

“Because better you blow up the bunny than the Queen of Ferelden,” Dorian said, as he stood behind and took her left hand in his. He pointed their palms towards the rabbit as Desna laid a small crystal with a fleck of lyrium sealed inside on the rock behind the rabbit.

As Dagna cleared out of the way, Dorian started to whisper.

She stopped trying to make out the words after a moment – he was too soft to be intelligible – but the meaning was somehow clear. She relaxed and let him lead her, and felt rather than heard what he wanted her to do. She focused on the feeling of _wrong_ inside the rabbit, felt it drawn out by the _wrongness_ emanating from the brooch. She wanted more than anything else to strip that wrongness from the rabbit, to save it from what they had just done to it. And then, with a jerk, the anchor flared open on her hand. The searing pain was like a spike driven through her arm to her shoulder, and she willed it to pass through the rabbit and into the crystal behind, taking every ounce of _wrongness_ with it.

It only lasted an instant, and Evelyn felt herself sway on her feet as the stream of light from the anchor cut off.

Dagna leapt forward, to where the rabbit was frozen in abject fear, and quickly removed the brooch and tucked it back into the leaded box she’d brought with them. Evelyn noticed the black dagger at her waist, wrapped in many layers of leather to keep it out of contact with anyone’s skin. Dagna picked up the vial and carried it over to where Dorian was helping Evelyn keep herself off the ground. Without a word, the dwarf proudly presented the evidence: the strip of blue lyrium inside the vial had turned a sickly purple.

“I’ll need to watch the rabbit for signs of blight sickness. And we’ll need another test… a harder one. I’ll have to infect another rabbit and wait until it starts showing signs of blight, and then we’ll try this again. In the meantime, you and Dorian can practice opening up the anchor with _out_ being near a rift scar.”

“In the meantime,” Evelyn corrected her, “you’re buying me a fucking _drink_.”

Dagna laughed happily. “We’ll see if we can find something worthwhile in Haven.”

The sun was hidden behind the mountains when they returned to the remains of the town. The Chantry was roughly halfway reconstructed, but there were other buildings crouched around it with sound walls and ceilings. Evelyn spoke with the Lieutenant in charge of the site and found a safe out-of-the-way spot for them to make a little camp. She scrawled a quick apology to Cullen, promising to return the next day, and quickly sent it by raven back to Skyhold. She barely laid herself down – still two hours before full dark – when she was dead asleep.

She awoke without transition, from slumber to thrashing consciousness in an instant. Dagna rolled out of the way as Dorian leapt onto her, infinitely grateful he’d thought to stash her daggers at the very bottom of their pile of supplies the night before. “Evelyn! You’re awake! In Haven! You’re alright!”

It took several long moments before she fully came back to herself, and Dorian collapsed into a heap next to her when she had calmed. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’ve had worse. Granted, it took a Qunari to throw me around like that, and I liked it a lot better.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, although her tone was lighter. “I just… with the pain in my left side, and the cold, and the sounds… I knew I was in Haven, knew I had the anchor, and for a minute I was… convinced everything in between had been a dream.”

“Lucky for you, you never woke up to me in Haven with you.”

“Lucky for _you_ , I never woke up to you in Haven with me.”

Dorian snorted, and Evelyn waved at Dagna. “And Dagna – she didn’t join us until we were in Skyhold. If it had been Varric and Solas here, instead…”

She looked around for a minute, before narrowing her eyes at Dorian. “You hid my daggers.”

“You’re damn right he hid your daggers,” Dagna laughed. “The Tevinter and I are a lot of things, but _stupid_ isn’t one of them.”

Evelyn had to laugh, although there was little humor in it. Her left arm _ached_ in a way it hadn’t in months, and she now knew why she’d never been able to get back to 100% with her left-hand dagger. She pushed herself upright, settling on her knees, still astonished by the weakness in her left side. She suddenly missed Solas with a near _hunger_ that kept her from being able to stand. Solas had always known what was happening with her anchor, with the rifts. He would say something to her, right now, that would make her feel better. Would let her know that _somebody_ knew what was going on, somebody she trusted. But now she was floundering in the dark.

“Evelyn?” Dorian murmured, ruffling her hair. “Still with us, darling?”

Evelyn shook her head. “Fucking _Solas_ ,” she grumbled, and Dorian nodded his understanding.

“When it comes to blowing things into tiny bits, I’m your man. When it comes to things like this…? We would all be better served by his presence than his absence.”

“Except, apparently, him,” she replied, suddenly irrationally angry.

“Now, now,” Dorian chided her. “Just because he didn’t magically appear as soon as you needed him is no reason to castigate the man.”

“Fuck you, Dorian,” she replied, and the Tevinter laughed. He always seemed relieved when he got that particular response.

“We should head back to Skyhold,” Dagna was saying, gathering up what few supplies they had brought with them. “I have a rabbit to blight and containment crystals to build. And you Inquisitor, need a lot of rest before we try this again.”

They took the arcanist’s advice and made their way home. It took half again as long, with Evelyn still being clearly exhausted and her seat on the hart precarious at best. She was cradling her left arm against her body as if it was broken, and Dorian could almost _feel_ her pain.

“We need to send for a better healer,” he said, riding next to her with concern evident on his face. “You had Solas before, and Vivienne. It was never my strong suit and likely will never be, regardless of how much practice you give me.”

Evelyn nodded. “I’ll have Josephine write to Vivienne, and get a recommendation.”

Dagna had her head buried in a tome, creating a long column of figures in a precise hand. Dorian didn’t feel obligated to try to draw her into the conversation.

“Was it like this before?” he asked.

“Before?”

“Has it ever hurt this badly before? Maybe before I knew you?”

She chuckled sourly. “This bad? Yes. When I first woke up in irons in the dungeon of Haven, and could _feel_ the Breach growing… and instead of curling into a ball and trying to die – apparently I’d been doing that for nearly three days, ever since I fell out of the Fade – I had to hike _up_ the mountain and close three rifts. I blacked out and Varric had to carry me _off_ the mountain. I went back to Haven and slept most of a day. And then I woke up feeling like this.”

“Will it get better, do you think?”

Evelyn sighed. “No. But if its anything like before, I’ll get used to it. Hopefully, since there’s no Breach, and the thing stays dormant unless I come near a scar or _will_ it to life, it won’t be a constant thing. Maybe it’ll just be searing pain when I use it and a dull ache for a couple days afterward and then nothing.”

“You call this a dull ache? You’re acting like your fool arm’s broken.”

“It _feels_ like my damn arm’s broken. I‘ve broken my arm, I would know. But no… compared to what it was yesterday, this is a dull ache.”

Dorian was silent for a minute as he chose his next words carefully. “If this is what you were trying to avoid, when you chose the Templars to help you seal the Breach, anyone would be a fool to blame you.”

“That makes me a fool, then,” she said softly, but she smiled at him gratefully.

They rode into Skyhold in the late afternoon, and Cullen was waiting for them in the courtyard.

“What happened?” he asked, foregoing a greeting.

“Aw, hello Commander! We missed you too! Wonderful day for a ride!” Dorian exclaimed, mockingly.

Evelyn laughed. “I’m fine. We’re all fine,” she told her husband. But she hesitated getting off the hart, giving truth to the lie.

“The fuck you are,” Cullen gritted, and lifted her off the mount.

Evelyn sighed. “Have it your way. Send for Leliana and Josephine, I’m only doing this once. Maybe Captain Killeen and Knight-Captain Aillis should come to. Meet Dorian and I in the training yard.”

“The… what? Why?”

Evelyn set her jaw. “Now, Commander.”

Cullen stiffened. “Yes, Inquisitor. At once.”

Dorian whistled thinly through his teeth. “Trouble in paradise?”

“He worries,” she said, dismissively. “And he knows me far too well. He probably saw us on the road and knew I was hurt.”

“Well, you are carrying your arm at an odd angle.”

Evelyn managed a snort of laughter. “He probably recognizes it from the way I stood the first few days in Haven, whether he can place the memory or not.”

“So what are we doing in the training yard?”

“I’m going to blow up a practice dummy.”

Dorian dug his heels into the earth. “You will not.”

“Dorian. Shut up. I know my limits. It will hurt like mad but I’ll survive. I’ve had this damned thing for nearly two years now, if it is going to kill me it won't be for something as trivial as detonating some straw.”

Dorian didn’t move. “You’re exhausted. You can just tell them about it and save the demonstration for another day.”

She sighed and stopped, turning back to him. “Please. I need you to help me. And then I can recover for _days_ until Dagna is ready for another trial. Lets just get this over with and then I will happily take a three-day nap.”

Dorian shook his head, but started moving again. “For the record, I think this is a monumentally poor idea.”

“I have taken your opinion under advisement,” she said regally, forcing a laugh out of him.

‘I hate it when you have your Inquisitor hat on.”

“That’s why I only bring it out for special occasions.”

Evelyn made a slow circuit around the training yard, warning the soldiers present to stay back, and keep any new arrivals out of the way. She dragged a practice dummy into the empty corner to the east of the armory, trusting that if she missed, she wouldn’t do any damage to any important structures. Or people. There was something about her manner – or maybe the way she was holding her left arm – that silenced the yard and brought respectful attention from the soldiers in attendance.

Cullen was in a high dudgeon when he returned, Leliana and Josephine at his heels. Killeen had wandered into the courtyard to see what was happening, and sent a runner to fetch Aillis, who was already en route.

“Alright. I’m only doing this once, so watch carefully.”

She waved to Dorian, who made sure his complaint was audible as he stepped up behind her. “For the record, this was _not_ my idea. Make sure the Commander knows it.”

“Duly noted, Dorian,” Cullen said dryly, his voice somewhere off to the right.

“Everyone keep your distance,” Evelyn called, and then lifted her left hand.

She could hear the sharp intake of breath and knew, instinctively knew, it came from Cullen. He’d only ever seen her close one rift, in Adamant, but the man forgot nothing… least of all anything that had to do with her. The gesture would be unmistakable - and would fill him with dread.

Dorian was behind her then, right hand on her hip, steadying her stance so no one else would see her swaying dangerously. His left hand lifted, palm facing front, and he lightly laid his fingers between hers. He ducked his head down and started to murmur again, and Evelyn opened her mind to his suggestion.

_Intent_ , that was what was important. She _intended_ to blow up this practice dummy like the feather pillow she and Cullen had destroyed the other night. She wanted to see straw in a tight sphere, and then have it drift down gently to the ground. The anchor was a source of _energy_ and energy was all she needed. She _willed_ it to happen and felt the surge in her hand. There were shouts around her, at least one woman screamed, and the practice dummy blew apart in a sea of green light. Straw landed in clumps on the ground, contained within three or four paces of the now-empty stake it had been built upon.

Dorian’s arm snaked around her waist, pinning her to his chest and keeping her upright. “Good girl,” she heard him whisper. “Still alive? _Wonderful_. Now focus on staying on your feet, and giving your soldiers a good show.”

He was right, there were too many people watching. She took a deep breath, straightening her back and shoulders, and leaned away from him a bit, until she was sure she was supporting her own wait. She squeezed his left hand briefly and then stepped away. He released her and stepped back.

She didn’t know what kind of reaction she was expecting, but this one wasn’t it. She turned slowly to see a sea of awestruck faces. Even Killeen’s jaw had dropped. It was likely none of them had ever seen her use the anchor, she considered a bit belatedly. The Templars who had been with  her at the Breach, perhaps, and whoever was at the front lines in Adamant. But How many of those men were still alive? And of them, how many happened to be in the practice yard today?

“The anchor is not gone,” she said, in a voice pitched to carry across the courtyard. “It is merely dormant. What use I might put it to, we have not yet determined. But please know this: we went to the Temple of Sacred Ashes yesterday. The Breach is still closed. The rifts are still closed. Corypheus is still dead. The orb that caused the explosion and the Breach was shattered. This does not change the past, it merely gives us new options for the future.”

She saw nods then, a few smiles of relief. “You are all important to the Inquisition,” she said, to the assembled soldiery. “As are your compatriots who were lucky enough not to be in the courtyard this afternoon.” A few scattered laughs greeted her attempt at a joke. “As such, any questions or concerns you have – I want to hear them. Starting now.”

“Does it hurt?” Killeen said, almost as soon as Evelyn quit speaking.

Evelyn gritted her teeth. “Yes.”

Silence. “Are you a mage now?” This from a soldier. The Templars knew better.

“You don’t have to take my word for it, but no. I’m confident any of the Templars here will tell you, what I just did didn’t feel like any magic they’ve come across." She was rewarded with several vigorous nods. “The anchor draws power from the Fade itself. The magic that created it was ancient, and elven, and the only person who understood it has disappeared. But what you should take from this is that the anchor is _exactly the same now_ as it was when I first used it in Haven, and as it was the last time I used it, to kill Corypheus. I am no more or no less the woman who fell out of the rift over the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

Reminding them of that, her supposed connection to Andraste, was the right move. More nods now, more relaxed stances.

“Who else?”

“Was it Andraste who was seen behind you in the rift?”

She couldn’t see who asked the question, but it destroyed the relaxed vibe she had been creating, and she sighed.

“I will not lie to you, especially not about this. I did not remember anything about the destruction of the Temple or the creation of the Breach when I awoke in Haven. It took a very long time for those memories to come back, but I now know that it was Divine Justinia you saw in the rift. I believe we were drawn into the Fade together – her intentionally by Corypheus, and myself by providence – and Justinia sent me back.”

She could tell the truth wasn’t going to hurt her legend. Justinia was well loved; knowing the Divine sacrificed herself to send Evelyn back didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t the Herald of Andraste; it simply meant the Maker’s Bride didn’t act as directly as everyone had hoped. She could almost hear Mother Giselle’s mind turning on how best to construe this announcement.

“I would like it if we could keep the questions focused on the weird shit going on with my hand,” she said, still turning slow circles in the courtyard to see everyone. “This can’t turn into ‘everything you ever wanted to know about the youngest Trevelyan.’ A lady has to keep her secrets.”

She was rewarded with a much stronger laugh, but no more questions. She did a last turn. “Alright, we’ll call it, then. If anyone feels this changes their ability to serve in the Inquisition, you will not be kept here.”

Nobody moved. Evelyn smiled. “Thank you. But if anybody changes their mind – or has a concern about the anchor – you know Commander Cullen has an open door policy. Don’t fuck with me, I’ll be sleeping.”

Another loud laugh met her words, and then a cheer went up for the Inquisitor.

“Varric is going to choke when he hears that he missed this,” Dorian said smugly from her side. She put a hand out to him, and he tucked it into his arm like they were a fine couple at a ball. He leaned over her to hide the way she put her weight on him.

“Good,” she hissed. “I want to see the letter before you send it.”

Cullen was in front of them before they could get to the stairs that led up to the main hall. “I can get her to bed safely,” Dorian said gently. “You have a bit of a situation on your hands down here, though.”

Cullen didn’t respond. He had eyes only for Evelyn.

“It is no different,” she said, looking wearily up at her husband. “No different at all. I will go to bed and stay there. I will have someone sit with me… Dorian or Aieyla or Leliana. Whoever is free. We all have our duties, love.”

The pairing of those two words had the desired effect on Cullen. He gently freed her from Dorian’s grasp and wrapped his arms around her. Knowing full well they still had the attention of the forces in the courtyard, Cullen leaned down and kissed Evelyn for all he was worth.

The Commander’s continued affection might have done more for the opinion of the troops than anything Evelyn said, and the catcalls and whooping cheers went on for some time after he released her. She grinned at him, and reached a hand up to cup his cheek. He kissed her palm and then gave her back to Dorian with a flourish.

“Show time’s over! Back to work!” he bellowed at his men in the courtyard, and strode back to his office without a backwards glance.

Leliana and Josephine closed ranks around Dorian and Evelyn, and between the three of them they got her to the stairs up to her tower without any obvious display of weakness. Once the door was closed, though, Evelyn slumped onto the bottom stair. “Nope. Not happening. Waaaaay too many stairs.”

“I’ll go get Cullen,” Josephine said, but Evelyn stopped her.

“No. Not yet. That will look _terrible_. Sneak me back to the war room, I’ll nap there until he’s done for the evening.”

Leliana shot a wry glance at Dorian. “You’re learning all the secrets today,” she said, and led them down one level to the basement. She crossed the room and released the latch to the secret passage, and directed Dorian in, the Inquisitor in tow.

“Secret passages? Really? You trollop, you snuck the Commander up to your room long before anybody suspected it, didn’t you?”

Leliana’s laugh was all the confirmation he needed as the Nightingale swung the door shut behind him.

“Yes,” Evelyn said with a weak laugh. “But not like you’d think. I held him hostage once, when his withdrawals were getting bad. I drugged him and made him sleep in my room so I could watch him and make sure he actually slept. And then I snuck him out the next morning, so he wasn’t stressed about anyone finding out.”

“I could see he loved you the first moment I met him,” Dorian admitted quietly. He could almost feel the warmth of her smile.

“It took a long time for either of us to admit it.”

“Maybe to each other. But he outright told me, as we hovered over your bed and waited for you to wake up after Haven fell.”

“Some friend you were. You let me flounder about for _weeks_.”

“I most certainly did not,” he protested as they neared the end of the passage. “I encouraged you on a daily basis to express your feelings to the man. It is not my fault if you can’t take direction.”

She was laughing as the door opened, and Leliana ushered them into the war room. Dorian looked around, impressed. “I never would have guessed this was here. But, really, who decorated in here? This is gauche.”

“Sadly, they will not let me do _anything_ to this room,” Josie said from the door to her office. “Bring her through here. She can sit by the fire and be comfortable. I’ll make sure she is unmolested.”

There wasn’t anywhere to sit in the war room, aside from a couple of stools and the large table itself, so Josephine’s suggestion was agreed to be best. There were several large chairs by the fire, and after setting her up in one, Dorian popped up to the library for a stack of books and his hidden supply of tea.

“Summer, in a cup,” he said, pouring some for the Inquisitor after it had steeped. She had a book propped in her lap so she appeared to be reading, allowing her to doze off and maintain the illusion of health and good cheer. She sniffed the cup suspiciously.

“What did you put in this?”

“The tea. From this pot. That you watched me make.”

She shook her head. “I’ve unapologetically drugged a man insensible before, Dorian. If I were you, I would have put a hell of a dose in this cup. So tell me. What am I drinking?”

He smiled at her, summoning up his most flirtatious voice, “Summer, darling girl. Summer, in a cup.”

She laughed. “So it’ll make me feel warm and happy?”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“For the record,” she said, tipping the cup back. “I trust you enough to drink something I know damn well you dosed.”

“And this is why you are universally adored,” Dorian answered. He refilled her cup when she emptied it, although this time he let her see the flask he tipped into it first. She laughed happily and drank again.

“Will I sleep?”

“I should hope so. But not from this. It’s a mix of things… since you’re not exactly dealing with known elements here. Distillation of deep mushroom, to help build back up your stamina. Powdered fire crystal, to warm you up and help sooth the muscles in your arm. And elfroot because… elfroot.”

Evelyn laughed. “And the tea?”

“Ah, yes, the tea. Mind your own fucking business about the tea.”

The laugh that drew from her was deep and real, the first sound of honest delight he’d heard from her since they’d returned to Skyhold. He felt some of the tension ease off his spine.

“You worry too much,” she said, watching him.

He considered and rejected five different witty retorts before finally deciding on the truth. “You are the only person in this world that I know, without a doubt, loves me precisely as much as I love them.”

Her hand shot towards him, and he quickly took it.

“You are my very best friend, Dorian,” she said in response. “Don’t let Sera or Leliana tell you any differently.”

“But that’s the point, isn’t it? So many of us consider you our very best friend. Leliana. Cullen. Sera. I think Solas would have said it, too, if he could have pulled the stick out of his ass long enough. And as you move through the world, you drag more of us along after you. Human flotsam and jetsam. Hawke adores you, if only because you give her a run for her money in the race for Varric’s favorite person. You were the darling of the court in Val Royeaux. The Empress herself sends you greeting cards. And now you’ve got the King and Queen of Ferelden coming on a social call. Maker’s balls, Evelyn, the White Divine allows you to use her as a personal message forwarding system. What happens to the world if you fall?”

Before she could answer, Dorian squeezed her hand and leaned in. “And you know I couldn’t care less what the rest of the world thinks. What would happen to _me_ if you fall?”

“You have a place here,” she said gently. “You have made a name for yourself with the Inquisition, with the Chantry. Alistair might just love you forever for that dance number on Isabela’s deck. If I weren’t around, Cullen would be lost without you… he wouldn’t have anyone to play chess with. You have _earned_ your place here, Dorian… you have it with or without my continued blessing.”

“My original statement still stands. I won’t be homeless, but I would be utterly alone.”

“Ugh, that’s not fair. If I wanted to be someone’s sole source of love I’d have children.”

“Well, maybe you should consider it. Then I could be Uncle Dorian and when you get yourself killed I could have a piece of you in your offspring.”

She took her hand away from him with a sigh, throwing her head back against the chair. “You’re impossible.”

“Quite the opposite. My only request is that you learn a little bit of self-preservation. Your willingness to suicide is disturbing.”

“It was the only thing that saved us in Haven,” she said, crossly. “It saved us in Adamant. It saved us time and again in the war… if I can exchange myself for the rest of the world, I would do it, and happily.”

“You can’t, you short-sighted ass.”

She worked herself up in the chair, but he didn’t get her an opportunity to speak. “Your death serves _no_ purpose. You die, the anchor vanishes. If you’d died in Haven, we would have lost the war. If you’d died in Adamant, or the Temple to Mythal, or on any other battlefield before or since, _we lose._ There is no one to fill your shoes. You are the Inquisition. You. All the rest of us are just filler. Accessories. This isn’t like the Blight, where if the Wardens died the Blight would just take longer to stop, because more Wardens would have to ride in. There is _one anchor_. There is _one Inquisitor_. There is _one person_ who can enter and leave the Fade at will… and in case you’ve forgotten, _its you_. So do the world a favor and take care of the only fucking resource that actually matters. Please and thank you.”

He was surprised to find himself breathing heavily, but more surprised to see her blinking back tears. “I’m sorry,” she said softly when he fell silent.

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.”

“I… don’t know how.”

He took a deep breath. “That was honest. Alright. For starters, take one moment before you plunge into something unknown or dangerous and ask someone else for their opinion. _Should I be doing this_ is a great one. Or how about _What are the chances of this getting me killed_?”

“That’s not fair,” Leliana said, having come into the room without their noticing. “If she’d done that, if she’d avoided anything that was dangerous, Corypheus would have won as surely as if she’d died along the way.”

“Oh? Dragon hunting was a necessary risk?”

“Do I correctly recall there being a dragon on the doorstep of Fairel’s Tomb? Weren’t you glad she had dragon killing experience before that fight? Or how about when she had to kill the dragon Corypheus corrupted?”

Evelyn looked from one to the other like they were two sides of a massive chess board, arranging arguments around her like pieces.

“You could justify anything with enough time. At the moment, there was no good reason to make a special trip to the Hinterlands to kill the dragon. Not a reason that specifies it had to be _her_.”

“But that is exactly my point. At the time, many of the decisions she made, the risks she took, might have seemed irrational and far-fetched. But each one paid off in full.”

“What she’s saying,” Cullen said, coming around the door from the war room, “is that as much as Evelyn’s actions make our collective hearts stop, she either has perfect instincts or is being led by providence. And either way, we have to stand aside and let her throw herself into situations we would _never in a million years_ want her in, and trust her to find her way out.”

“You don’t really believe that,” Dorian said to the Commander.

“After everything you’ve seen… are you saying you don’t? The _only_ thing I am absolutely sure I believe in, is her.”

“So am I in trouble or not?” Evelyn said, tears standing in her eyes.

“YES.” All three of them answered.

“You should have let yourself rest before giving your little exhibition,” Dorian said.

“You didn’t have to give that little _exhibition_ at all… we would have believed you,” Cullen corrected him.

“And why on earth would you tell our troops that you _aren’t_ the Herald of Andraste? Are you insane?” Leliana added.

Evelyn covered her face with her hands.”I want to nap now. Right now. I’m done talking, I need to sleep.”

Dorian and Cullen both set their jaws. It was the only thing she could have said to immediately kill the conversation.

As Cullen crossed to her, she stood up and held her arms out to him. He wrapped her into a tight embrace.

“You’re early,” she said against his shoulder.

“I had surprisingly few complaints about your little demonstration. Precisely one, in fact… from the person who had to clean up the mess. The man who was making a replacement training dummy was giggling about how the previous one had exploded.”

“Did you go all the way upstairs looking for me?”

“Yes.”

Evelyn sighed. “So I’m in trouble for that, too.”

“Yes.”

A deeper sigh. “I just didn’t have the energy to make it up the stairs.”

“And you didn’t send for me…?”

“Because you were busy cleaning up my other mess? I was still resting, if not in bed. And Dorian drugged me.”

Cullen turned slightly away from Evelyn to fix Dorian with a look.

Dorian managed a smirk. “A restorative. She _is_ looking better, wouldn’t you say?”

Evelyn pulled back from Cullen and threw herself in Dorian’s lap. “You are the absolute best. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that,” he replied, wrapping his arms around her for a quick hug. “Now get yourself to bed before I forget you have all the wrong parts.”

Evelyn laughed and kissed him soundly on the forehead before standing up and leading Cullen to the war room. “I should be able to get most of the way up on my own,” she said as they left the room. “Its just… so _fucking_ many stairs.”

“I’d noticed,” Cullen answered, dryly.

“Tell me why you’re really angry with me,” she said, waving to Leliana, who was closing the secret passage behind them.

“I’m not, really.”

“No?”

“No. Do I wish you were more careful? Yes. Do I wish you had a stronger sense of self-preservation? Yes. Do I think we would have won the war if you had? ….No. If I’m honest with myself, no. If you hadn’t thrown yourself into Corypheus’ face in Haven, and bought the army time to escape, the entire Inquisition would have perished, before we even really got started. No one else could have done that – because no one else had what he wanted.”

He followed her through the hidden passage to the basement level of her tower. It was slowly filling up with extra furniture for the tower rooms, as Josephine decorated and re-decorated in preparation for the Fereldan court. He watched her close the door, and then picked her up and swung her onto his back. She giggled, a noise that still didn’t seem like it could come from her throat, and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“So much easier this way,” he said, and started the long walk up the stairs.

They were silent on the way up, Evelyn certain he wasn’t finished with his point, but not wanting to force the issue while he was carrying her up six flights of stairs… long flights, at that.

They reached the top and she swung down, opening their door and closing it behind him. Amazingly, he wasn’t winded… she was tired just from holding on to him.

“It is so easy for us all to forget, now that the war is over, that your life really was constantly in danger. You were willing to sell yourself for the rest of the Inquisition, and once Corypheus was dead, the assumption was made that you just wouldn’t do that anymore. But that doesn’t change the fact that you made those life-and-death decisions in an instant, over and over again, in the heat of battle or alone on the road. We expected you to make them, relied on you to make them… and it’s neither right nor fair for us to fault you for doing the same thing you’ve been doing for over a year.”

“I am not trying to get myself killed,” she pointed out gently. “I have a vested interest in staying alive.”

Cullen chuckled as he started the process of getting out of his armor. “While I’m sure that’s completely obvious to you, the rest of us are having a hard time seeing it. You broke into Weisshaupt, alone. You apparently decided to take up sailing with Isabela. And as soon as you learn your anchor never really left, you’re blowing up training dummies in the yard even though anyone with two eyes could see you were exhausted. Too exhausted to come home yesterday, I assume, regardless of what your note might have implied.”

“I can see your point,” she said, keeping the same gentle tone to her voice. “But it sounds like you’re agreeing with me, so I’m not sure why I feel like I should be apologizing.”

“You shouldn’t. I should. Dorian should. We all should. But not you.”

“Oh. Well. I don’t think I will hold my breath waiting for that to come to pass.”

She stepped out of the leathers she’d worn to Haven and made her way into the adjoining chamber that held her tub, running a bath. The smell of sulfur was clinging to her – a grim reminder of the anchor that she’d almost forgotten.

“If you were a man, you would be the love of Dorian’s life,” Cullen said, suddenly behind her. She hadn’t heard him follow her into the bathing chamber, and she was briefly startled. “If I didn’t know better, I would have been jealous of the way he was holding you in the courtyard.”

Cullen mimicked the stance she and Dorian had stood in, stepping close behind her with his right hand around her waist and threading the fingers of his left hand through hers. Cullen was notably taller and broader than Dorian, so it felt markedly more like looming than teaching when Cullen did it.

“He’s lonely,” Evelyn said, thinking of what Dorian had told her in Josephine’s study. “He wants to go back to Minrathous, but he’s afraid to. He doesn’t want to leave me – he’s the only one left outside of Lana, Josie, and you. I don’t think he feels like he has a purpose.”

“…Other than mother you, no. He probably doesn’t.”

Evelyn laughed, leaning back into Cullen. “I should give him a title.”

“A title?”

“Yes. Something like, First Enchanter of the Inquisition. Give him a job, responsibilities. Make him recruit me a better healer. Make him come to council meetings… we probably can’t call it _war_ council anymore.”

“And if he decides to return to Minrathous?”

“The title’s still his. He wouldn’t be the first person to leave Skyhold for an extended period of time.”

“That’s… actually a brilliant idea.”

“Don’t sound so surprised!”

Cullen scoffed. “You don’t come up with ideas. Leliana and Josie and I come up with ideas, and you choose the best one.”

“I have plenty of ideas!”

“Oh, really? Name one.”

“Your journal. The specially marked message cylinders for when I was away, so you could write me.”

Cullen grunted. “Fair enough.”

“Now stop arguing with me and help me into the tub. The faster I’m clean the faster I’ll get to sleep.”

“Yes, my lady Inquisitor.”

“Ass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No rabbits were killed in the making of this fic.


	18. That Rabbit is Dynamite

Evelyn stayed in her rooms for the better part of three days. While she slept more than normal, managing nearly 10 hours a night, she spent many of her waking hours with Dorian. The Tevinter mage brought the needed supplies for his _summer in a cup_ with him every morning when he came up to see her, often with several books tucked under his arm.

“If we’re going to do this anchor nonsense without Solas, _somebody_ here needs to know about Fade magic. I took the liberty of cleaning out his chambers… there wasn’t much, but the books he’d taken from the library were still there. Unfortunately, none of them had anything to do with the Fade. Minaeve had some suggestions for me, though, so I’m not running blind.”

“You’re my go-to man when I absolutely need something blown to shit right away…  would hate to see you lose your edge because you’re studying up on my anchor.”

He laughed at her. “You’re adorable. This is a purely intellectual pursuit. My reputation is tenuous enough without me adding _Tevinter playing with the Fade_ to my resume. Corypheus ruined that shtick for all time.”

“Fair enough. Any chance we could just find Solas?”

“If you think you could succeed where the Nightingale has failed, you are welcome to try,” he answered, before flipping open his book and diving in.

They passed the time idly, curled up by the fire or stretched out in a sunbeam, books open and tea cups always full. By the second day, the ache was gone from her arm. By the third, she was starting to feel decadent. “I’ve got to get back to work tomorrow,” she told Dorian as the afternoon slipped away. “I’m getting close to stir-crazy.”

“Good,” he said, scarcely looking up from his book. “You’ll get fat if you stay up here much longer.”

In retaliation, Evelyn asked Leliana to spar the next afternoon. Cullen wasn’t particularly pleased with the idea, but Evelyn had solid grounds for wanting to practice: she knew for a fact her left hand was undermined again. Dorian carried his book onto the roof and pretended to read while they fought, but he was on the same page when they finished as he had been when they started.

Leliana beat her soundly – disarmed and dealt a killing blow in less than ten minutes.

“We must get back into this habit,” the Nightingale said, scarcely winded, while Evelyn ran through every curse word she knew three times and started making some up. “We will budget the time into our schedules until we are back to where we were before.”

“Until I am, you mean.”

“You will need time to reaccustom yourself to the continuous injury to your left arm, just like before.”

Evelyn sighed. “You’re right. Thank you.”

They decided to start off easy – sparring every third day. They were coming down off the roof from their next match (another terrible loss for Evelyn) just as Dagna was walking into the room.

“The first rabbit has gone a full week with no ill effects,” she announced without preamble. “And the second rabbit… is in pretty desperate need of a cure. I’m actually getting scared of keeping him in the undercroft, so as soon as you’re feeling up to it…”

“Let me get changed and fetch Dorian,” Evelyn said, deciding quickly. “I’ll meet you in the undercroft? Unless there’s somewhere else you’d rather go.”

“Actually, the ‘croft should be fine. I’ll warn Harritt, and he’ll find someplace to hide for awhile.”

“Lana,” Evelyn said, turning to the other rogue as the arcanist left the room. “Can you distract Cullen?”

“Yes, of course. But why?”

“I guess I didn’t ever bring this up in the council… Dagna and I are chasing a theory on how Fiona was cured of the taint, how she stopped being a Warden. That’s what she’s talking about – we’re testing her theory for a cure. But… Lana, the brooches are red lyrium. Red lyrium so far gone with the blight that they’ve turned black. Cullen can’t be anywhere near them.”

“This is the sort of thing we should probably talk about at tomorrow’s meeting, yes?”

Evelyn  nodded. “Yes, absolutely. I should  have a more definite conclusion, as well.”

She was half right.

Dorian was quick to agree to join her, and they were in the undercroft with Dagna within 15 minutes of the summons. Harritt was conspicuously absent; Evelyn hoped Cullen remained so.

The caged rabbit Dagna had set up on a stool was stark white with red eyes and the disturbing fangs of a darkspawn. “What the fuck is that?” Dorian swore uncharacteristically.

“Blight rabbit,” Dagna said calmly. “I’ve had to keep it caged for two days now… I had it in a pen, over there-“ she gestured to the unused corner at the top of the landing near the door “-but it can _jump_. It cleared the 3’ walls I had it in and decimated the rest of the rabbits. When you go to leave, look at the bones. I’ve never seen bite marks like these before.”

The brooch was already attached to the rabbit – strung through what looked to be a noose Dagna had threaded through the cage bars and tightened onto the rabbit’s neck. “Doubles as a fail-safe, in case this doesn’t work,” the arcanist admitted, following the line of Evelyn’s gaze.

Dagna was wearing the black dagger openly now, in a leather pouch dangling from a thick leather thong around her neck, prudently still not letting it come in contact with her skin. She had on a heavy leather apron – one of Harritts, it seemed – and dragonhide gloves that covered her to the shoulder. A second stool was being set up near the one bearing the rabbit, and a clear crystal vial containing a sliver of lyrium laid behind it.

Evelyn took a deep breath, and felt Dorian’s form slide into place behind her. She leaned against him for a minute. “Feeling up to this?” he asked. “We can always hang the rabbit and go for drinks.”

“Yes. Just… its nice when someone has my back. Literally.”

Dorian’s hand on her waist pressed her against him in a kind of brief hug, but didn’t otherwise respond.

Evelyn lifted her left hand, and Dorian’s rose to meet it, palms layered to face the snarling killer rabbit.

“Intent,” he whispered to her, and then started the now-familiar murmur.

Evelyn focused on the feeling of _wrong_ in the rabbit, and it was temporarily overwhelming. It surged through the creature, swirling with rage and hate. It was still a weak shadow against the twisted blackness that was the brooch, and that contrast helped her keep focus. _Intent_. She wanted the wrongness, out. She wanted the _wrong_ in the rabbit to be _wrong_ in the crystal, every last drop of it. Rabbit minus wrong.

The anchor flared to life, her arm held in place more by Dorian’s than by any ability of her own. She had eyes only for the rabbit, could almost _see_ the wrong in him, could almost _feel_ it siphoned out…

And then it was over. She sagged against Dorian and let the Tevinter hold her up, knowing she was light enough not to task him. “Why is this _so much harder_ than closing a rift?”

“Ah, yes, see, this is why I read. With the rift, you were responding to a massive gaping hole in the fabric of reality… anything big enough for a Pride Demon to fall out of is huge, I think we can agree on that. Those rifts were doing most of the work… you were essentially just turning the key, and the Veil was doing the hard work of closing the door. The power you were expending to close the rifts was simply control. This, though… you’re using the anchor to access the power of the Fade, _and_ drawing it out _and_ using it for a specific purpose. This is more like you using the anchor to _open_ a rift, if you remember how exhausted you were after we were in the Fade at Adamant.”

“Not really. I had far too much adrenaline and stark fear to worry about something as trivial as exhaustion.”

“Fear, ha. I thought we agreed you were fearless.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Only if we’re agreeing to be big damn liars.”

“Lies are the backbone of civilized society,” he said, almost piously, and Evelyn couldn’t help but laugh.

“There it is, all better. On your own feet, now, no rest for the wicked.”

Dagna had put away all the exposed black lyrium, so Evelyn judged it safe to approach the two stools the dwarf was bent over. She could see the vial first – Dagna’s body blocked her view of the caged rabbit but she could see right over the arcanist’s head to the now-red lyrium incased in crystal beyond. A good sign, if she could get past the surge of guilt for _creating_ red lyrium. Varric might not ever forgive her, if he found out.

Once she drew even with Dagna, however, the fledgling feeling of triumph vanished.

“Tell me it’s not dead,” Dorian said, an instant before she could get the words out herself.

The rabbit was collapsed in a heap in the cage, and Dagna was reasonably loathe to open it up to get a closer inspection.

“Lift it up,” he said, and Dagna quickly did as she was told. Dorian laid his hands along the bottom of the cage, where the rabbit’s limp form bubbled lightly between the bars.

“Alive,” he breathed, and Evelyn almost cried with relief. “But just barely. And maybe not for long…”

“Is there anything you can do?” Evelyn breathed.

He shot her a dirty look. “Yes, because _healing rabbits_ was my academic focus in my  misspent youth.”

“Fuck you, Dorian,” she said, and he laughed, as if on cue.

“Very little I can do,” he said, focusing on the heap of fluff, “but I supposed little is better than nothing.”

Evelyn saw the glow from his hands and watched at the rabbit seemed to breathe a little easier. Dorian shook her head. “You’d be better off taking him to whoever you got him from, ask if there’s anything they can recommend. Even if only to make sure they can eat some elfroot… some things that are safe for people are toxic to animals.”

Dagna nodded, and then turned her attention to the crystal vial on the other stool. “While I would rather the rabbit lived, this is a fair sign of success. As a happy side effect to this line of inquest, I’m developing a way to determine how much blight is in lyrium, and to study the progression of blight sickness in mammals.”

“Well, I guess if there’s one place to be inquisitive, it’s here,” Evelyn sighed. “Do I have your permission to talk about your theory and our application of it in council?”

“Oh, absolutely. It needs to not extend past your advisors… and Dorian,” she included the mage with a smile.

“Dorian is one of my advisors,” Evelyn assured her, and gestured at the door. “I should be going. Leliana is waiting to hear of this. She believes I should have brought it up as soon as we returned from Haven.”

“May I keep Dorian while you are there? If… he doesn’t mind?” Dagna asked abruptly, and then looked to the tall Tevinter. “I assume your training was different than what they receive in the Circle towers. If Tevinter mages are also trained in _intent_ as a first focus, it would be very beneficial to learn where the training branches to give the two forms of magic such different flavors.”

Dorian looked at the dwarf curiously, obviously surprised by the offer.

“If you come with me, I’ll drag you into the war room and make you help me explain all of this shit,” Evelyn said, giving him an out in case he needed it. “So your choice is, stay here with the arcanist and killer rabbit, or come help me fumble through an explanation of magical theory.”

Dorian laughed. “When you put it that way… I would rather do anything else than hear you butcher magical theory. Dagna, how do you feel about tea?”

Evelyn hid her grin until she was most of the way up the stairs. She would do right by her friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: no rabbits were killed in the making of this fic.


	19. Titles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cameo time!

They ended up dragging chairs into the war council, and finally conceded Josephine’s point that it was time to redecorate the space. The map table would be pushed to one side and a council table brought in. “Preferably with _nice_ chairs,” Evelyn sighed as she sunk into one stolen from Josephine’s office.

It took Evelyn fully three hours to explain everything she and Dagna had been working on in regard to a cure for the Wardens. That had grown to encompass what she knew of the anchor, the energy from the Fade, the conversion of blue lyrium to red and then to black, lyrium sensitivity post-withdrawal, and the odds of long-term survival of two rabbits.

“This is… a lot to take in,” Josephine said as Evelyn finished her report.

“I know. It took me awhile to wrap my head around it when Dagna was telling me.”

“I can’t believe you made _blight rabbits_.” Cullen said, shaking his head.

“That was your takeaway?” Leliana asked, incredulous. “We just learned lyrium could _kill_ you, and you are concerned about the bunnies?”

Cullen shrugged. ”Principle.”

Evelyn laughed, but there was little humor in it. “If you’re angry on principle, why focus on the rabbits and not your wife _making red fucking lyrium_?”

Cullen shook his head. “With all the red lyrium in the world already, your little slivers are the least of our worries. And maybe Dagna can use them to find a way to destroy it safely.”

There was little anyone could say beyond Evelyn’s report; they were waiting on the final world from Dagna as to whether she believed their cure was feasible for Wardens, and what testing if any she wanted to do before attempting it on a human. They likely wouldn’t have that information before Alistair and Moira arrived – which was slated to happen in three or four days’ time.

“I did have one other thing I wanted to discuss,” Evelyn said when it seemed all other business was exhausted. “I am just going to lob it out there, and I want this to be a brutally honest discussion.”

“I do not like the sound of that,” Josie said, straightening in her chair.

“Does anyone remember the first day I stood in the war council, when we were discussing whether to approach the mages or the templars, and I noted that Cullen was a Templar and none of the rest of us were mages, so his opinion was likely better founded than ours?”

Cullen barked a laugh. “Are you kidding? For awhile, that was my fondest memory.”

Josephine and Leliana both joined the Commander in his laughter. “I’ll bet it was,” Leliana said.

“For a brief period, we had a mage in council when Morrigan was with the Inquisition. I think it is something that we benefitted from, and that the Inquisition, regardless of who sits in the rest of the chairs, should strive to maintain. I think we need a fifth seat in the council, I think it should a title like First Enchanter or whatever, and… I think it should be Dorian.”

“I agree,” Leliana said simply, and Evelyn fought to hide her shock.

“I actually had been considering a similar suggestion. I have the rough sketches for what the announcement should look like,” Josephine said, suddenly shuffling through the papers she had tucked under her writing board. “I was hoping we could make an occasion out of it… invite some notable personages. And if we did it while the King and Queen of Ferelden were here, it would allow me to have a fete for them without making them the center of attention, as Leliana has begged me not to do.”

“This may be a first, but I also concur,” Cullen said, leaning back. “Is this a first? Have we ever had a consensus?”

Evelyn shook her head. “No, this is definitely a first. Are we even agreed on the title? I admit to just stealing it from the Circles.”

“Perhaps a consultation with Vivienne…?” Leliana proposed.

Josephine shook her head. “No, that might prompt her to question why she was not selected. Or assume that she was being asked to fill the role. If we feel we need permission to use the phrase, the only place to seek it is from Divine Victoria, and I am confident she would give the Inquisitor anything she asked.”

“Should we just pick another title, if that is problematic?” Cullen suggested. “And while we’re at it, could we formalize Leliana’s title? ‘Spymaster’ just doesn’t lend itself to polite conversation.”

“I believe,” Evelyn said slowly, fishing for the memory, “that Moira and Alistair have a Minister of Information.”

Josephine laughed. “I believe the Inquisition would not be able to carry off the title of _Minister_ within its council.”

“Intelligencer?” Evelyn asked. Leliana nodded solemnly. “I like it,” she said. “

“Alright,” Evelyn nodded. ”Ambassador, Commander, Intelligencer, Inquisitor. And our mage should be…?”

“Maybe just Enchanter,” Cullen suggested. “A one-word title to go with the rest. But he would be the Enchanter _of the Inquisition_ , and we would be remiss if we didn’t allocate some space somewhere in the Keep for a mage tower, if his task will be recruitment.”

Leliana and Josephine were both nodded. Josie was writing on her board hurriedly.

“We never got around to fixing up the tower behind the armory,” Evelyn mentioned.

“You never found us a significant enough quarry,” Cullen replied.

“Alright. So. I go find us some rocks. Josephine makes up some invitations and plans us a fete. Leliana cooks up a plan to keep Dorian here until we can shackle him with a title. And Cullen starts mobilizing manpower to move whatever stone I come up with.”

“Are we all in agreement?” Leliana asked, with a ghost of a smile to Josephine.

Everyone was nodding, smiles breaking out on Evelyn and Cullen’s faces, when Josephine drew out another sheet. “Leliana’s turn of phrase reminds me of another item of business. Dorian is not the only member of the Inquisition to be shackled with a title.”

“No?” Evelyn asked, leaning back a bit into her chair. This had the feeling of gossip. “Did Hawke finally force Varric to become Viscount of Kirkwall? She’s been threatening it for years.”

Josephine smirked, a look that Evelyn had long since learned to fear. “No, this is perhaps closer to home. I have been informed that the King and Queen of Ferelden intend to remove Honnleath and its surround from the greater Redcliffe holdings, and make it and the otherwise unclaimed region of the Frostbacks a minor Arling. It would be more of an honorary title, with negligible income and no defensible seat. Arl Teagan has blessed the plan.”

“And the new Arl…?” Leliana prompted her.

“Rumor has it, the King will present the Arling on his upcoming state visit to the Commander of the Inquisition.”

Cullen was staring at her in horror. “He wouldn’t.”

Evelyn threw her head back and laughed. “He would! He absolutely would! If only so that you had to make the trip to Denerim for every Landsmeet and quasi-important function.”

Leliana shared in Evelyn’s mirth. “Alistair was never one to suffer alone.”

As Cullen struggled to put voice to his protestations, Josephine continued on smugly. “It is a simple and straightforward way for Ferelden to show its appreciation and support of the Inquisition, given Skyhold falls on Orlais’ side of the Frostbacks. In addition to being the only member of the council _from_ Ferelden, our Commander is also  _from_ Honnleath, and is more likely to be accepted by the populace. I should note Honnleath is only a day or two ride from Skyhold, and if the new Arl would care to build a summer home there for part-time residence…”

Cullen’s jaw snapped shut audibly. “If it would be of benefit to the Inquisition, of course I would accept.”

“If it would give you a place to steal away with your Lady Wife in private, you mean to say,” Leliana teased.

Cullen met the Intelligencer’s gaze steadily. “Precisely so.”

Leliana broke into a wide grin. “Good. Josephine will help you draft an adequate acceptance.”

“Is it rumor,” Evelyn asked Josie, “or are you calling it a rumor?”

“Until it is formally offered by the King or Queen, it is by necessity a rumor. Have I been using Leliana’s scouts to help the King and Queen demarcate the borders of the new Arling? Yes.”

 

*

 

Scout Harding was called back from her mission in Honnleath to assist Evelyn in locating another quarry reasonably near to Skyhold.

“There were several in Emprise du Lyon,” the Inquisitor-titled World’s Cutest Dwarf said over a pint in the Herald’s Rest the next evening.

“I feel like an ass asking the people there to go back into the quarries, given what happened. And it’s very far away. We’ve largely pulled our troops back and discharged many of the volunteer forces. It would be a logistical nightmare.”

Harding grunted. “We are in the middle of the mountains. We could always spend some time – and maybe ask for some assistance from Orzammar – and try to find something in the immediate vicinity.”

Evelyn nodded. “I like where your head’s at. I’ll get you the harts and a team. See what you can find.”

“What? No, you missed the part about _assistance_. Finding a quarry in the mountains is like finding a pin in a sea of needles.”

“Impossible?”

“And painful.”

“We’ve got a couple of dwarven masons here in the Skyhold. I could make them part of your team?”

Harding sighed. “We’re working on a deadline, aren’t we?”

“What, you thought since the war was over we could just fuck around?”

“Yes. Yes, I thought exactly that.”

Evelyn laughed. “Tell me Honnleath wasn’t a pleasure tour.”

The dwarf smiled in spite of herself. “Scouting in the lands I grew up in? Spending every night with my family? I’ve gotten paid to do worse.”

“I know. I’m the one who pays you.”

“I still haven’t gotten my hazard pay for the Fallow Mire job.”

“You get hazard pay?”

“I should for that cockup.”

Evelyn laughed again. “If Josie won’t comp you for it, let me know. And in the meantime – Cabot! Harding’s tab for the next week is on me.”

The taciturn bartender nodded and went right back to cleaning the bar.

“You sure know how to treat a girl,” Harding said, relaxing on her barstool. “You’re probably stuck with me for life. I’ll never find another job with these benefits.”

Evelyn bumped shoulders with the scout. “That’s the plan, Harding. That is the plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harding is my absolute favorite.


	20. All In One Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything that's been in the air comes down on Evelyn's head in the course of one terrible day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making this chapter monstrously huge intentionally. I want everything that happens in this one day to all be in one chapter... giant block of text to mimic a never-ending bad day.

The King and Queen of Ferelden were scheduled to arrive shortly after noon. They’d sent a messenger ahead – the herald who had come before, Lyle – to inform the Inquisition that their retinue was camped in the mountains a few leagues away.

Josephine herself appeared in the Inquisitor’s quarters to share the news, as Evelyn and Cullen were preparing for bed.

“Why didn’t they just come in tonight?” Cullen asked.

Josephine scoffed. “Regardless of Alistair’s upbringing, the man has learned courtly manners. Waiting until tomorrow allows me the time to prepare a royal welcome. The fanfare! The honors! All of that will be easier to accomplish at noon than midnight.”

“So, tomorrow’s the big day?” Evelyn asked. The Ambassador nodded enthusiastically.

“Wonderful. I’ll be sure to come down with Cullen in the morning, then, so you can harass me instead of Leliana.”

“Oh, nonsense. Leliana has been irreplaceable through this planning…”

Leliana,” Evelyn said gently, taking Josephine by the shoulders, “was once the paramour of Moira Cousland. It would behoove you to tread softly in the next few days, where Leliana is involved. They have seen each other but once since the Blight.”

Josephine’s eyes went wide. “Do you think I have offended her?”

Evelyn shook her head. “No. Not yet, at least. But be prepared for our Nightingale to be out of sorts when Moira arrives.”

Josephine disappeared down the stairs and Evelyn latched the door behind her, leaving it unlocked, before joining Cullen in bed. “Tomorrow’s the day, then,” she told her husband, burrowing into the blankets beside him.

That proved to be an understatement.

The morning started early, even by Cullen’s standards. He was donning his armor, an hour before sunrise, when a tentative knock sounded on their door.

“Its open,” he said, checking to make sure Evelyn was properly dressed.

The door opened a crack, and one of the newer Lieutenants – Higgins, by chance, recently promoted to fill Killeen’s former position – called to the Commander. “Urgent message for you, sir.”

“Well, bring it here, then,” Cullen’s voice a whipcrack. Evelyn dove into the bathing chamber to hide her laugh.

“No, sir, its… it’s a messenger. Too tired to make the climb up. One of the Intelligencer’s scouts. In your office.”

Cullen sighed. “Duty calls, Love,” he said to Evelyn.

She crossed the room quickly to wrap him in a hug. “Don’t you dare forget about Alistair and Moira. Josie will kill you. Landing, main hall stairs-“

“Noon. I remember.” He kissed her forehead and left the room in Higgins’ wake.

Evelyn met Dorian for breakfast before the two of them met with Dagna. The artificer usually kept later hours, but they wanted to meet before the King and Queen arrived.

“Good news or bad news?” the dwarf asked as they entered. Dagna never seemed to stand on ceremony.

“Good,” Dorian replied immediately. Evelyn scowled at him – she always chose bad news first.

“The rabbit lived!” Dagna cried happily, showing them the white rabbit in the pen in the corner. He was definitely worse for wear, but he didn’t show any outward signs of Blight. He seemed content to munch on a pile of greens, generously laced with elfroot.

“I want you to try to feel for any signs of taint, and then the Wardens can do the same when they arrive.”

Neither Dorian nor Evelyn could sense any of the _wrongness_ in the rabbit that they had a few days prior, although they all admitted that was a poor test.

“Alright, so what’s the bad news?”

“There isn’t another test we could do that would ensure the safety or efficacy of this ‘cure’ before trying it on the Wardens. I have no reason to believe any other blighted mammal would react differently than the rabbits. And the ceremony that creates a Warden is a bit different than blight sickness. Becoming a Warden is generally considered a _cure_ for blight sickness, so the two might not even be comparable.”

“So we may or may not have anything to offer the King and Queen of Ferelden.”

Dagna nodded. “And while I am confident it would work, confidence isn’t science. In order to know if it works on Wardens, we need to test it on a Warden.”

“The Queen of Ferelden is much more important than a rabbit,” Dorian said. “Unless they brought someone more… replaceable… in their retinue, we might be out of luck.”

“Alright. We’ll bring Moira down to see you when we’ve escaped Josephine’s gauntlet.” Evelyn said with a sigh.

“I’ll be here.”

They emerged into the main hall, and the plan for the rest of the day was shot straight to hell.

The Iron Bull strode in through the main doors as Evelyn and Dorian passed the throne. Evelyn saw Dorian freeze from the corner of her eye. Bull’s face was stony, like Evelyn had  never seen it, and he stormed up to her.

“Boss,” he said shortly as he walked past, and Evelyn couldn’t hide the smile that enticed. The Chargers weren’t in the employ of the Inquisition anymore, but rather the Chantry proper; Bull still apparently felt some loyalty to Evelyn herself.

“You are not going to Minrathous,” he said to Dorian, and Evelyn reflected on the sudden lack of greetings in the Inquisition.

”I don’t recall that being the question I posed,” Dorian responded mildly.

“You wanted to know when was a good time to go back? Not now. Not anytime. Stay the fuck out of Minrathous.”

“War room,” Evelyn said, picking up on the undertone in the conversation. “Right the fuck now. Go.”

The two men responded to the order, and she followed held open the door to Josephine’s office as they filed through. As she went to close it behind her, she heard Cullen’s voice calling her from across the hall. “Wait!”

“Come with us, Commander,” she said, and he nodded and fell in.

“You’re going to want to hear this privately,” he said softly, and she felt dread grip her heart.

She nodded, and continued escorting Dorian and Bull into the war room.

“Saw the Chargers,” Cullen said conversationally as they went through what always felt like too many doors. “I assume he isn’t on a vacation?”

Evelyn shook her head. Josephine stood as they passed through her room, but Evelyn waved her down. “I’ll call for you in a minute,” she assured the Ambassador, and got a nod in return. “I will send for Leliana.”

Evelyn waved her thanks and then they were filing into the war room, leaving the door unlocked behind her for the inevitable interruption when the rest of the council arrived.

“Are the Qun invading Minrathous?” Evelyn asked the qunari as soon as they were all arranged in a loose circle in the middle of the room.

“You know I can’t answer that,” he said, but Evelyn noticed the slight change in his stance, the shift in his expression.

“ _What_?” Dorian took two steps to stand in Bull’s face. “What do you mean, _you can’t answer that_?”

“Dorian,” Evelyn touched his arm – lightly – but that was all it took. He stepped back and waited for her to speak. “He already did. He can’t verbally confirm it, but he’s done everything but. You can’t go back to Minrathous. It’s not safe.”

“My father is there! I have friends in the city, contacts! I can’t stand aside and do nothing!”

“You can, and you will,” Bull said, although his tone was laced with empathy.

“You’re asking me to stand aside and let people I have known my entire life die.”

“No, he’s not,” Evelyn said. “We can’t warn them directly, but we can get some of them out. Make a list of who is most important to you.” The door opened and Josephine stuck her head in. Evelyn waved to her to enter. “Josie, Dorian is going to give you a list of people he wants to invite to Skyhold for the fete we’re throwing in his honor.”

“The- what?”

Evelyn cupped a hand on his shoulder. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but this might be better in the end. We’re promoting you. You’re getting a seat on the war council and a title. We’ve decided the Inquisition would be better served by having a mage on the council and you’re the only man for the job. You’ll be the Enchanter to the Inquisition. I promise it’s a pay raise, too.”

Dorian looked flummoxed – for probably the first time since she’d known him.

“Go,” she said gently, pushing him towards Josephine. “If you can get them here, we can _keep_ them here. As long as necessary. Plausible deniability. Trust me.”

Dorian nodded, and staggered to Josephine, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders and drew him out of the room.

“Nicely done, Boss,” Bull said, ruffling Evelyn’s hair.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said formally, and drew her attention.

“Yes, Commander?”

“We finally found information on Lyle’s sister – Knight-Corporal Leina.”

“Good timing, since Lyle is here. Where is she?”

Cullen paused, and Evelyn felt her stomach drop. The Templar was dead, had to be.

“She… rebelled. Her last known whereabouts were in the Hinterlands. She was presumed dead, but I knew that wasn’t good enough. I’ve had scouts… They’ve managed to determine with a very low degree of uncertainty that Knight-Corporal Leina was amongst those killed when… When the Inquisition stopped the fighting near the crossroads.”

The world spun. “I killed Alistair’s niece?”

Bull whistled thinly through his teeth.

“She was likely not the King’s niece, but… yes, all the evidence points to her having been at the Templar camp on the river you cleared out of rebels.”

“Every decision I’ve made…” she hissed, feeling her hands clench and her vision darken around the edges. “Everything I’ve believed, everything I’ve tried so hard to accomplish… it is never enough. Never. Enough.”

“Right here, Boss,” Bull said, slapping himself on the chest. “Let it out.”

“I’ve got this one,” Leliana voice causing Evelyn to straighten up and spin around.

“Your roof. Let’s go,” the Intelligencer said. “We’ve got time, and you need to sweat this out.”

“…Roof?” Bull asked.

"Coming, Commander?" Leliana asked Cullen.

Cullen shook his head. “Thank you, but no. I have to get back to work. My morning is spirally out of control.”

“Tell me about it," Evelyn hissed. "Bull, you can come if the Chargers don’t need you. And if you can keep your fucking teeth together.”

“Yes to the first, no way to the second. Information is power.”

“The secret’s out, Ev,” Leliana said, directing her to the hallway past Josie’s office. “Come or not, Bull. Only offer.”

The qunari ended up following them up the stairs to Evelyn’s apartments. As the two rogues were changing into their black matte chainmail – which was kept in a darkened corner of the loft over the bathing chamber, near the passageway to the roof – the Iron Bull seemed to figure out what they were doing. “No shit? You guys have been fighting on the _roof_? We spent six months trying to figure out where you were sparring.”

Leliana risked a smile, “See? Secret’s out.”

Evelyn had no humor. She drew the double-bladed chalk daggers and climbed onto the roof. Leliana followed, as did Bull, with alacrity.

The fight was brutal, brief, and as close to dirty as the friends could take it. Leliana was the instigator of the worst offenses, driving Evelyn to faster and more vicious moves. The Inquisitor won, in the end – a sideways swipe with her left-hand dagger mere seconds after Leliana had knocked it loose, as Evelyn caught it in the air and reacted before Leliana could come back around for another stroke.

The white chalk on the chain showed what would have been a sliced jugular, and Evelyn’s daggers dropped to the paving roof, her arms falling limp to her sides. She collapsed to her knees, and exhaustion freed the tears she had been fighting.

“WHY?” She screamed, the wind whipping her words into the mountains. “Why her? Why now? Why everything all at once? Why me?” She tipped her head to the sky. “ _What the fuck do you want from me?_ ”

She picked a dagger up and threw it, aimed up and to the east, to fall unnoticed to the rocky ledges behind Skywall. Her second dagger followed suit. “ _Fuck you! I’m not your fucking Herald! I’m not your fucking slave! I’m fucking human! I am allowed to fuck up! I don’t know what you fucking want from me!”_   Spent, she fell to her knees again before collapsing face-first to the stones beneath her feet.

“I take it my news and the bit about the dead Templar isn’t the only problem in the works?”

Leliana shook her head, moving to stand over the stricken Inquisitor. “It’s been a rough couple weeks. The anchor's back, standard aggravations.”

“Fuck you, too,” Evelyn muttered, picking herself up.

“Who’s that?” Bull asked suddenly, looking away from the two rogues, at the road to the west.

Leliana moved to stand next to him, and Evelyn rose to her feet. “That would be the King and Queen of Ferelden. Still a few miles away, but right on time.”

“Andraste’s saggy tits, I could use for them to be late,” Evelyn swore, and went over the side of the wall.

She heard Bull swear behind her, and heard Leliana’s laughing reassurance that Evelyn had just jumped down onto her balcony. Leliana followed suit and – surprisingly – so did the qunari. “That’ll get your heart going,” he said with a grin as he walked into the Inquisitor’s quarters.

“Emergency bath time.”

Bull shrugged. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Leliana and Evelyn looked at him for a moment, then at each other, and then shrugged and stripped out of their chainmail. Evelyn had a basin of water poured over a heating rune and they hastily washed off the sweat – and tears – generated by their exercise on the roof.

“You’ve put on some weight, Boss,” Bull criticized as Evelyn pulled on her formal Inquisition armor.

“Got married. It happens. What do they say? Fat and happy?”

“You should get out more.”

“You have _no idea_.” She said, finally finding a laugh. “I put more miles on since you left than I did with you here.”

“Probably all on a horse, too. Need to fight more, travel less.”

“I will take that under advisement,” she said, and gestured to the door. “We’ve got to go put on a pretty face for the royals.”

Leliana coughed a laugh. “For Josie, at least.”

“I hear the Arishok used to travel with the Warden Commander during the Blight,” Bull said conversationally. “I’ve always wanted to meet the human _female_ that he would call kadan.”

“So he definitely is the Arishok now?” Leliana asked. “He was simply Sten when he was with us.”

“No horns? Greatsword named Asala?”

“That’s him.”

“Arishok.”

Leliana nodded. “I heard that Alistair ran into him while traveling with Varric and Isabela, but none of them will talk much about it.”

“Well, tonight after dinner, you might get your chance to ask,” Evelyn teased. “We’ll get him liquored up and see if he’ll talk.”

She was almost restored to good humor when they made it to the bottom of the stairs. Leliana crossed the hall and headed up to her own rooms nears the bird cote, supposedly to change into her own formal wear, but Evelyn suspected it was to delay seeing Moira and Alistair for as long as possible.

Cullen was waiting for her at the doors to the main hall. “Landing. Noon. See?”

She laughed, threaded her arm through his. “Well done.”

He seemed to relax. “I see Leliana has worked her magic again. I didn’t expect to see you laughing so soon.”

Bull scoffed. “You missed the fifteen emotions that come between rage and joy. Believe me, she felt them all.”

Evelyn casually swung an elbow, catching Bull in the gut. His grunt was more for her benefit than from any discomfort. “Go see to your Chargers. You’re not part of the official greeting party. We’ll introduce you later.”

“Sure thing, Boss,” and he was gone.

"Am I in trouble if I admit to desperately clinging to a mask today?" Evelyn murmured to Cullen.

"Given the morning you've had, I would be surprised if you didn't. Don't forget to take it off, though."

She squeezed his arm. "Only until I can keep my shit together, not a moment longer. I promise."

Josephine – and Dorian, Evelyn noted happily – appeared moments later. Dorian was clearly eying Bull as the qunari crossed the courtyard to the tavern. “Leliana hiding?” the mage quipped.

“You know it,” Evelyn responded.

“I am doing no such thing,” the Nightingale cooly denied, gliding into place behind Evelyn. She was perfectly composed, wearing armor nearly identical to Evelyn’s. Josephine was wearing a swirling crimson and gold dress, done in Ferelden style in honor of their guests. Dorian had been put into the Tevinter-style mage robes Josephine had commissioned for him, with the long leather coat that was standard amongst Inquisition mages, golden eye emblazoned on the lapels.

“All together? Good. Here we go,” and Evelyn led them down the stairs to the courtyard, and then down to the main gates.

The party was just riding in as they reached their position at the bottom of the stairs. A full honor guard of Fereldan cavalry, with another unit left behind at the army camp outside Skyhold, rode with the King and Queen. Moira and Alistair dismounted in unison, while their troops stayed mounted. Behind the honor guard was a heavily laden wagon and the surprisingly few servants that had been brought with them. As the monarchs stepped in front of their horses, they clasped hands and approached the Inquisition.

The steps of their dance were ingrained painstakingly into them by Josephine, and everyone behaved as they were supposed to. The formalities were concluded with surprising haste, and they made their way into the main hall. Cullen stayed behind briefly to introduce Captain Killeen to the commander of the honor guard, Captain Ellin. The Fereldan troops were withdrawing to the army encampment, leaving their officers as a token presence. Cullen had the northwest tower room converted to a proper bunk house for them, with a room beneath it prepared for the household staff they'd brought in. Cullen had it all arranged and had caught up to the party before it made it past the doors to the main hall.

“This is a defender’s dream,” Moira was saying about Skyhold. “Reminds me of Soldier’s Peak. Actually, it reminds me a _lot_ of Soldier’s Peak. Maybe they were built by the same people?”

“Skyhold has been built and rebuilt countless times, according to the dwarven masons we brought in,” Evelyn answered easily, more comfortable than Josephine in conversing with the Fereldan monarchs. “We found bricks from a number of other places. I even penned an apology for some of them. Awkward.”

Alistair laughed. “At last! A problem you have that I didn’t. I definitely did not have to apologize for bricks in Denerim.”

“A ha!” Evelyn laughed. “One to you, your Majesty.”

“Oh, are we back to that now?” the King replied easily. “And how should I refer to you? Your Worship?”

Evelyn flinched, remembering her breakdown only an hour before on her roof. “Technically, I am merely Inquisitor. Leliana is Intelligencer of the Inquisition. Josephine is our Ambassador. Cullen, as you know, is Commander. And Dorian is lately Enchanter to the Inquisition. We planned to formalize that while you were in attendance, if at all possible.”

“Speaking of things to accomplish in our attendance,” Moira said, glancing around the very full hall, “is there someplace we could hold council? Surely you have as much to tell me as I do you.”

Evelyn sighed. “I hope you have far less news. Josephine, is the council chamber set?”

The Ambassador bowed her assent, and led the way to the war room.

The new table had been brought in – likely it was there earlier and Evelyn had been too preoccupied to notice – along with eight armchairs upholstered in the Inquisition crimson and gold.

Leliana was the last to enter the room, and upon closing the door, Moira was standing between her and the table.

“Leliana,” she said gently.

They looked at each other long enough that Dorian and Cullen seemed uncomfortable. Josephine glanced away, tears in her eyes. Alistair watched, a sad smile on his face. Evelyn couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“Moira,” Leliana replied. She took a step toward the Queen and allowed herself to be swept into a tight embrace.

“Lana,” the Queen whispered, and Leliana’s eyes welled over with tears. They were gone as quickly as they came, but Evelyn would never forget the bittersweet joy on her friend’s face.

Moira pulled back and cupped the Nightingale’s cheeks. “You look wonderful,” she said. “The mountain air must be good for you.”

“Do not ask me to lie,” Leliana laughed. “You are living too hard.”

Moira laughed, and quickly hugged her again before releasing her and taking her seat at the head of the table; Alistair had purposefully left it open for her, choosing instead to sit to the right of the Inquisitor on the opposite end of the room. Moira lifted one elegant eyebrow at him.

Alistair gestured to Cullen, who sat across from him, a bit defensively. “We’ve got to stick together.”

Dorian was next to Cullen, and nodded sagely. “Yes, because men versus women is definitely the way _this_ room is going to divide.”

That brought a laugh to Evelyn and Moira which spread quickly.

“Alright, who’s starting?” Evelyn asked, causing Josephine to flinch from the informality. Moira noted the Ambassador’s discomfort with a small smile.

“We have a bit of a problem,” Moira offered, and Evelyn felt her jaw set. “Enough of a problem, honestly, that we should bring it up right from the get-go, and decide how bad it’s going to be.”

Evelyn frowned. “Okay. What’s your problem?”

Moira walked back to the door, opened it, gave a quick command to the guard outside – one each from the Inquisition and the Fereldan forces – and quickly crossed back to the table. She didn’t sit, but leaned against the table on her fists. Evelyn realized – a bit belatedly – that the king and queen were both armed. Moira was wearing the sword gifted to her by Dagna. Alistair was wearing what could only be Maric’s legendary dragonbone sword, recovered from Cailan’s body some months after his fall at Ostagar. Cullen was wearing his sword, and Dorian was never without his staff. Even Leliana was wearing her daggers. Evelyn felt suddenly very naked without any weapons. It must say something about her comfort, both in Skyhold and with the new arrivals, that she would forget her blades.  
Perhaps Bull was right, as well.

“We got a delivery, the day before we left to come here. It included a message from the First Warden, in Weisshaupt. He said he didn’t know how I did it, but he knew I’d stolen from them. Furthermore, there was a rumor running around camp that the Inquisitor had been in Weisshaupt, and was asking about Thom Ranier… and that known acquaintances of yours were positively identified inside Weisshaupt the day before I left. All circumstantial, of course, but the First Warden isn’t stupid. It’s not enough for him to take any action… besides the one he did.”

The door swung open behind them, and two men entered. Evelyn knew them both. She felt her heart skip a beat.

Cullen reacted before she could, coming up out of his chair fast so hard it tipped over and skidded across the floor. He grabbed Evelyn out of her chair and thrust her behind him, drawing his sword.

“Ser Cannic,” Evelyn called from behind her husband, a bit ruefully. No one else had reacted, although, she reflected, Cullen definitely had good reason. “Do you yet take lyrium?”

“I do, Your Worship,” the former Templar said, confusion evident in his voice. He had not, technically, met the Inquisitor.

“Its alright, Cullen,” she said, touching his elbow lightly. She noticed neither Alistair nor Moira had drawn against him.

“Do you know who that is?” he hissed.

“I do,” Evelyn replied.

“Hello, Knight-Captain,” the man called Anders said.

“You,” Cullen answered coldly, “should be dead.”

“Hawke is a tremendous mage,” the warden mage quipped, “but worthless with a dagger.”

“Cannic, I need you and Anders to stay on that end of the room. Cullen has been free of lyrium for the better part of a year now, and needs to limit his exposure. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes, Your Worship,” Cannic replied, eyeing Cullen with a different measure of respect.

“That must have been a bear,” Alistair said lightly. “I take it only sparingly, before a fight, but otherwise not at all, not even to stay in practice. I can’t imagine having to live through withdrawals of the stuff. Hat’s off to you.”

Cullen was surprised by the tone Alistair took, and seemed to finally realize he was the only one reacting to Ander’s entrance. “That man blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall,” he said darkly. Josephine seemed startled. “He is directly responsible for the deaths of dozens of my soldiers, my brothers- and sisters-in-arms, my friends. Not to mention the ensuing war that culminated in the death of the Divine.”

“Yes, Cullen,” Moira said gently. “We know. That is why the First Warden sent him to me. Call him punishment.”

“Commander, please be seated,” Evelyn said, knowing trying to reason with the man would be fruitless. “Ser Cannic has Anders well in hand.”

Cullen sheathed his sword and bent to right his chair. Moira pulled out the extra chair – there were only seven people seated around the table set for eight – and pushed it to the corner farthest from Cullen. Anders sat down after a gesture from Ser Cannic, who positioned himself behind the mage.

“I’ve got a phial in my belt, Cullen,” Alistair said, his voice pitched lower and obviously intended to be empathetic. “Well sealed, no worries. But I can help Cannic in a pinch if need be.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Cullen said. Evelyn knew she’d get an earful later.

“And aren’t all the Templars of southern Thedas here now? More or less?” Dorian asked, maybe a bit peevishly. “Honestly, it’s the best place for him to be.”

“I didn’t blow up the Chantry with magic,” Anders said. “I did it the old fashioned way, with stolen explosives.”

“That does seem likely,” Moira said in agreement. “When I Joined Anders to the Wardens, he was the most accomplished healer I’d met. And I traveled with Wynne, so that’s really saying something.”

Anders inclined his head gratefully. Moira made no further response. But Dorian made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. Evelyn gave him a quick look and a silencing gesture. The last thing she needed right now was for Dorian to ask Anders – Anders, of all people! – to join the Inquisition.

“So the First Warden retaliates for your supposed crimes by sending you Anders and his Templar guardian?” Evelyn said, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“In essence, yes.”

“And you didn’t have anything else to do with him but bring him here. Which, admittedly, I would have done in your place,” Evelyn acknowledged grimly.

“See?” Alistair said. “I told you she’d be reasonable.”

“I didn’t want to bring him into Skyhold without your knowing. I am sorry if this sets our visit out on the wrong foot.”

Evelyn sighed. “Not anymore than what I have to tell you.”

“I think you’ve already gotten the worst possible confession out of the way,” Alistair said brightly, obviously hoping to cast whatever news Evelyn had in the light of not-as-bad-as-killing-my-mother, and not-as-bad-as-bringing-a-fugitive-to-dinner.

Evelyn had to fight the urge to drop her head to the table.

“Okay, yes. That first. We have finally had a breakthrough in the search for Lyle’s sister Leina… Goldanna’s daughter Knight-Corporal Leina, more properly.”

“Evelyn, no,” Dorian started, while Cullen quickly laid a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to-“

“She was killed outside Redcliffe, during the mage-Templar in-fighting.” She waited for a reaction from Alistair, got none. Relentlessly she continued. “All indications are she was killed when the Inquisition – more correctly, the _Inquisitor_ – purged the camp on the West Road.”

Moira _did_ drop her head to the table. Loudly.

Alistair winced visibly. “I actually don’t have a joke for this one.”

“ _Alistair_ ,” his wife remonstrated.

“Well, first, I didn’t know the girl. Second, her mother was a _bitch_ and apparently _not_ related to me. So while I might not have wielded the blade – sorry Evelyn – I bought the training that sent her to her death. So can we call it even?’

Evelyn sighed. “You are… far too kind. I just heard this morning.”

Alistair winced again. “You are having a red letter day, aren’t you?”

Evelyn exchanged a look with Dorian. “You have no idea.”

“I’ll fetch Dagna?” Dorian suggested. He didn’t wait for a response before fleeing the room.

“I’ll let her explain where we are at with our…” she glanced at Cannic and Alistair. “Project.”

Moira nodded. “They have been assigned to my command. I can guarantee their silence.”

“I don’t like it,” Leliana said. “But we must trust your judgement in this.”

Cullen was still glaring at Anders. “I’m going to need some answers,” he managed, between clenched teeth. "And some idea of what they plan to do with you."

Evelyn realized they had quite neatly skipped over the part about Anders being in Weisshaupt when telling the story of their exploits to Cullen in Denerim.

Evelyn grunted. “I am going to have to tell Cassandra about this.”

“Divine Victoria,” Josephine correctly gently.

“I cannot be made Tranquil,” Anders answered, snarling a bit at the word. “Justice would not allow it.”

“Anders is the current home of a spirit of Justice, and has been for nearly a decade,” Moira explained calmly.

“Sort of like Cole,” Evelyn said, trying to smooth things out with a favorable comparison.

“When Hawke believed me dead, it was easy enough to leave Kirkwall,” Anders continued. “More difficult was finding anywhere to hide. I was picked up by Wardens almost immediately, although they didn’t realize at first who I was. When they did, they couldn’t give me away fast enough. It took awhile to get a ship that would take me – and the first of many Warden Templars to hold the leash – but eventually I was on a ship to Val Royeaux. The Divine was preparing for the Conclave when I rolled in, and her Right and Left hands were otherwise occupied. So I was put in prison and left until somebody had time to deal with me.”

“Until I broke him out,” Moira said, and laughed at Leliana’s expression. “Yes, I was in Val Royeaux! Without you! You were in Kirkwall, I heard.”

“Keeping Varric alive and recruiting Commander Cullen, yes,” Leliana agreed.

“I hear you accomplished a similar feat with Thom Ranier.”

Leliana smirked. “I can neither confirm nor deny…”

Alistair and Evelyn laughed. Cullen was still completely discomfited by Anders’ presence. Josephine was writing as fast as her hands would go.

“I broke him out of the Chantry prison,” Moira reiterated, seemingly for Cullen’s benefit. “I took him to Weisshaupt both as a means into the fortress, an excuse for being there, and a different form of Justice. Whether or not he liked the Order, Anders was and is a Warden. Wardens learned the hard lesson against messing with politics, and the world nearly paid the price when Urthemial rose beneath the Korcari wilds. We need to prove we can police our own, that we didn’t need the Chantry to exact Justice.”

“Speaking of Justice,” Evelyn said, but was interrupted by the door opening and Dagna following Dorian into the room.

“Dagna!” Alistair cried in greeting. Moira merely stepped to the dwarf and swept her into a great hug.

“Oh, this is so exciting” the arcanist gushed, returning Moira’s hug. “I owe you literally everything, and before I ever get a chance to repay you, you give me _this_ to work with and its turning out to be the capstone to my… oh.”

She stopped talking as Moira set her down and Dagna gazed at Anders and Ser Cannic in the corner. “Well, that’s a problem solved. You brought us bunnies.”

 

*

 

As much as Evelyn protested, once Anders heard Dagna’s long explanation of the black brooches and the experiment she had been conducting with Evelyn and Dorian, the disgraced mage almost fell over himself for the opportunity to _stop being a Warden_.

“Will it even work on him?” Evelyn asked. “First, he’s a mage. Second, he’s technically an abomination.”

“He… what? Really? You _have_ to let me borrow him.”

“Dagna!” Evelyn tried to pull her up short. “He’s not a rabbit!”

“I will happily be a rabbit for your arcanist. It seems only right.”

“But the point is valid. You having more than one… occupant… may alter the effect of the experiment.” Dagna seemed reluctant to admit it. “If you were to get that spirit to leave, you would be a better candidate.”

“It’s not that simple,” Anders said, in the tone of a man who has explained this many, many times. “If Justice leaves my body, he won’t survive. He needs a way back to the Fade.”

“We have that,” Josephine spoke up, looking quickly at Evelyn. “Don’t we? If your anchor is still viable, can’t you open up a path to the Fade?”

“Well,” Dorian drawled, “hypothetically, yes. But without the open rifts around helping to power the anchor, the power expenditure might just kill her. And then where would we be?”

Evelyn stood and launched her goblet of water at the wall. “The answer to all of these questions is the same.”

No one spoke. She paced around the room, feeling all the anger that had built since the battle against Corypheus finally spill over. “Who would know why the anchor seemed to disappear? Who would know how to separate Justice from Anders? Who would know how to energize the anchor without fucking killing me? One person. One person is the answer to _all of this_ and he’s the asshole who _abandoned_ us the second Corypheus was dead.”

“Solas,” Leliana said simply. “I have met with no success in finding him. I have never seen anyone vanish so completely. If I did not know better, I would assume he was in the Fade.”

“He is,” Evelyn said in revelation, the words barely more than a breath. “If not in the flesh, then definitely in his dreams. He was upset. Of course that is where he would flee to.”

“No.” Dorian said as she turned to him. “Not just no. Far beyond just no. Not on your life, no. Literally.”

“If you’re not able to just send Anders to the Fade, you cannot expect to go yourself,” Cullen agreed with Dorian, remarkably quick to guess what she was thinking.

“Then I won’t go physically. Surely with the anchor attaching me to the Fade, I could dream myself there like a mage? Solas approached me in my dreams once, and said the anchor allowed me to be in the Fade far more strongly than most.”

“No.” Dorian said, emphatically.

“If a _Tevinter_ tells you to stay out of the Fade…” Anders murmured.

“Solas is the answer,” Evelyn said, resolute. “Dorian, you told me if I wanted to try find somebody Leliana could not, I was welcome to try. I am holding you to that statement. I hear your concerns. But my dreams are my own. I will find the elf."

An hour later found Evelyn in bed in her own chambers, Alistair perched on the chest at the foot of the bed, Dorian sitting cross-legged on one side of the bed, and Moira lounging on the chaise by the fire with Leliana. The cheerful afternoon sun gave the group a surreal feel.

“And you’re sure Bull can keep Cullen away?” Evelyn asked, not for the first time.

“He’s got Krem and the Chargers helping, I’m sure they can manage one cooperative former Templar,” Dorian replied dryly.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” she admitted.

“Which is the only reason I went along with it,” Dorian replied, ruffling her hair. “Have a nice nap and feel silly about it when you wake up.”

Alistair laughed. “And I’m here, in the worst case scenario. But you’ll forgive me if I’m not concerned enough to actually drink this lyrium just yet.”

“I’d rather you didn’t at all,” Evelyn said, settling herself deeper into the bedding.

Just going to sleep wouldn’t be enough. She wasn’t a mage, she couldn’t really touch the Fade in her dreams, not strongly enough to be lucid and conduct her search for Solas. She needed to use the anchor to put her mind into the Fade, without actually opening a rift and stepping inside.

She focused on the anchor. Solas had told her once that the Fade worked like magic did, with intent. It would take you where you desired, if your will was strong enough. It was almost like she was slowly being trained in magic; use her will, focus her intent, channel her power. The idea was terrifying.

“Solas,” she whispered, as finding the elf was all she really wanted. She focused on the anchor, on the feel of his grip on her wrist when he took her hand that first day on the mountain, when he closed the rift through her. She remembered the feel of his hands moving across her skin as he healed her countless times. She pictured the mix of sorrow and regret on his face as he apologized, the last time she saw him. And she imagined his voice when he had met brought her into the Fade to talk, the accent he couldn’t hide when he called her _lethallan_.

The world turned green, the sickly swirl of the Breach, of the anchor. Evelyn found herself sitting on a grassy knoll underneath a full moon, a warm summer breeze lifting her hair away from her face and drawing a wide smile from her face.

“You never smiled enough, Lethallan,” his voice beside her spun her around. He was suddenly sitting next to her on the grass, leaning back to take in the sight of her against the moon.

“Do you often find me in my dreams?”

Solas laughed. “You ask me that every time.”

“Have I ever come looking for you before?”

The world swirled around her, and she fought to keep her focus on Solas.

A forest solidified in her vision, as did a very angry elf.

“You should not be here. Should not be doing this. Should not have come for me. You need to _wake up_.”

She snorted. “That only works for you once. You lost your chance.”

Green swallowed the world, and the struggle to concentrate on Solas intensified five fold.

Dorian’s voice echoed from far away. “No, see? She’s almost awake again. No concern.”

The Fade became clear again, and Solas was leaning on a boulder, on the path he had used to lead her to Skyhold. He was still very angry – but now he was resigned as well.

“I see you have learned much about the anchor,” he said, the displeasure practically dripping from his voice.

“I needed you,” she said, surprised by her own vehemence. “I _need_ you. And you _left._ Do you have any idea what’s happened since you left?”

“Of course I do, Lethallan. You tell me about it at night, when your dreams bring you to the Fade.”

He leaned forward off the boulder and stepped to her, taking her shoulders and shaking her gently. “You are here far too strongly. I see now I cannot stop you from your pursuit… so please. You  must control your emotions. You will attract unwanted attention.”

Evelyn took a long, slow breath. “I doubt I have much time. I have a half-trained Templar hovering over my bed.”

“Then, no, it is not wise to tarry long. Why have you sought me out?”

“Have I told you of the cure we are investigating for the Wardens?”

“Yes. And I have told you that it was brilliant, and likely to work.”

Evelyn grinned at him. He made a gesture. “Find me again, Lethallan, and I will give you another answer.”

The sky turned green and collapsed around her. She was briefly aware of her bed, the weight of Dorian on one side and Alistair on the other – the King had moved from his perch on the foot of the bed. “Found him,” she heard her voice from far away. “Still safe. Need time.”

The anchor flared again and she was on the beach of the Storm Coast, barefoot and clad in a loose linen dress. “Is this your idea or mine?” she laughed as Solas appeared beside her.

“I leave that to your determination,” he said easily. “Was that your next question?”

“Can we separate the spirit of justice from Anders?”

“The homicidal warden who started the war between mages and templars? It would be better to simply kill him.”

“Be that as it may. He has volunteered to be our first Warden trial of the cure for the taint, but we worry the spirit within him would alter the way the Fade energy from the anchor would function.”

“Interesting theory. If _Justice_ wants to leave Anders, he could leave at any time. If he wished to survive outside of Anders’ body, you could use the anchor to help him return to the Fade. You mentioned the “scar” Dagna led you to. Such a place would give the spirit an easy transition, with little risk.”

“And the risk to me?”

“There is no risk to you,” Solas said easily. “Lethallan, I would not have left you in any danger. The anchor is a part of you now… worrying it will damage you is like worrying your ankle will attack you in your sleep.”

“But it is… so much more exhausting now.”

“The closing of the Breach has eliminated much of the Fade energy from the waking world. This is why the anchor seemed to disappear from your hand. What it takes to activate it now is far beyond what you are accustomed to supplying. It will take a time before you have the fortitude to summon it easily. More importantly, it will take trust. You yet fear the anchor, and so you are doubly exhausted, once from the anchor itself and once from the fight to overcome the fear. The assistance you are receiving from Dorian is vital. You should tell him to create a parabola with his mana around your hand as you use the anchor; it would help you focus its power with less expenditure of your own reserves.”

She spun to him, her toes in the sand feeling impossibly real. Only the lack of rain reminded her this wasn’t really the Storm Coast. “What else do I need to know about the anchor? What can I take back to Cullen, to convince him I am safe?”

Solas rolled his eyes. “Nothing will convince the Commander that you are safe, not truly. Abandon that course.”

“And the other question?”

“I already answered. I would not have left you in any danger. The anchor will not harm you… you may exhaust yourself, but you will accomplish nothing a little sleep will not cure.”

He brushed her hair back out of her eyes. “And the more you sleep, the more glimpses I get of you, more reassurance you are still well, even if your world can no longer be my own. So I would be remiss to tell you not to use it.”

“Solas,” she said, suddenly afraid she understand the elf better than she ever had before, “why did you leave?”

“You have been here too long, Lethallan. Your guardians will wake you soon. Do not try to find me again. You draw unwanted attention to yourself. I warded the anchor, to protect your dreams and hide you from demons who may use the anchor to find you. But bringing yourself here so strongly will quickly outpace any protections I may lay upon you. Trust that I am guarding your sleep, Evelyn.”

He had never used her given name. The way it rolled in his mouth, she understood why.

She knew the knowledge was written all over her face. Rather than get confirmation of a truth that could do neither of them any good, she forced a smile, closed her eyes, and woke up.

 

*

 

The shadows were deep in her room as she sat up, utterly exhausted although she had spent the entire afternoon abed.

“Seven hours,” Dorian said, answering the question before she could ask. “Four hours from when you asked for more time until you woke up.”

Alistair was tucking a phial back in his pocket – he noticed Evelyn looking and winked. “Still full.”

Evelyn sank back into the bedding. “So glad you have such faith in me, Your Majesty.”

“Faith is a strange word for my aversion to drinking this vile stuff,” Alistair replied with another wink.

“Did you learn anything?” Leliana asked, appearing in Evelyn’s field of vision. “Did you really find him?”

“I did find him. Can someone get Cullen? He’s going to want to hear this.”

“I’ve been here for the last two hours,” the unmistakable voice of the Commander came from somewhere behind her; Evelyn craned her head to see her husband sitting at the very corner of the head of her bed.

“You are the absolute worst at following orders,” she grumbled. “And where the fuck is Bull?”

“Sitting on the balcony, Boss,” the baritone voice of the qunari came from just inside the glass doors.

“Andraste’s ass, is everyone in here?”

“Just about,” Krem said, coming into view. “You’ve got the Queen on the couch with Josephine, even. So if there’s something you want to say, now’s the time.”  
Evelyn sighed, reaching over her head weakly. Cullen’s hand slid immediately into her grasp, and she relaxed further into her pillow.

“I found him. He… didn’t want to be found. He… augh, Maker, I don’t know where to start.”

“Time flows differently in the Fade,” Dorian supplied. “So don’t try to keep it straight. It might not have happened in any discernible order. So just give us the pertinent information and avoid the inclination to put it in a narrative.”

“Alright,” Evelyn frowned, trying to bottom line what she’d learned.

“Solas did… something… to the anchor, to prevent it from drawing demons to me when I dream. But if I try to look for him again, that might not work. I don’t know if that is accurate, or him trying to keep me from finding him. He also said the anchor couldn’t hurt me, that it’s a permanent part of me, and the worst it could do was render me exhausted… but never any more damage than some rest could repair. He said… he said he would not have left me in any danger. I got the distinct impression that he watches my sleep from the Fade, and has been approaching me in my dreams for information. He knew about my… project with Dagna, and he said it was brilliant. He was convinced it would work.”

Evelyn shook her head as if to clear it. “And he said if Justice wants to leave Anders, I should take them to the scar near Haven, and reopen the rift there. Then Justice could simply pass back into the Fade if he so chose. But Solas said it might be better to just kill them and be done with it. Which, coming from Solas, is pretty damning.”

She reached her free hand to Dorian, and he took it with both his. “He wanted me to tell you… to… and forgive me if this makes no sense, but he said to make a parabola? with your mana? And put it around the anchor to help focus the energy.”

“Clever bastard,” Dorian said, squeezing her fingers. “That is very likely to work. It might save you some exhaustion. Did you ask him about that?”

“Besides what I already said? Yes, I suppose. He said the Breach being closed made it harder to activate the anchor, because the energy of the Fade wasn’t as prevalent in ‘the waking world’ anymore. He said, with time, I could build up more fortitude. But that it was only exhaustion, and wouldn’t hurt me. And he said there wasn’t anything he could tell me that would convince Cullen that I’m safe.”

Moira’s laughter echoed through the room, and quickly spread. “I can promise he was right in at least one regard, then,” Cullen said, and Evelyn was pleased to hear the smile in his voice.

“Anything else?”

Evelyn frowned, considered it, and shook her head. “If I remember anything else I’ll bring it to council.”

“So what is our plan, going forward?” Cullen asked.

“Evelyn goes to sleep – real sleep, this time,” Dorian answered. “Tomorrow, we take Anders to Haven and let him and Justice make their decision. Josephine plans her party. You and Leliana, Commander, play host to our lovely guests.”

“And then, we draw the blight out of Moira,” Evelyn said, quickly succumbing to the suggestion of sleep. “And if that works, we consider doing the same for Alistair. Maybe.” She yawned deeply, her jaw cracking. “If he’s nice.”

If the King replied, she didn’t hear him, as sleep had come to claim her.

She dreamed was walking on a beach on a stretch of coastline she couldn’t quite place, the weather flickering between sunny and cloudy and a deep soaking rain. She threaded her arm through Solas’. “Welcome back, Lethallan,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Evelyn will have a discussion of Solas, fear not.


	21. The Ramifications of Being a Flirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen lays on some truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I flirted with everyone, my entire play thru. My human rogue hit on Cassandra and Dorian and Solas... if flirting was an option, I took it.  
> And there are never any ramifications for it, so long as you're not actually in a relationship with somebody else when you throw yourself at Cullen on the ramparts. I feel like its important to note that kind of behavior WOULD be noted, and WOULD have consequences.
> 
> Super short chapter. Feels odd after the last monster, sorry.

She woke early, even before Cullen, with the distinct impression she had spent far too long in bed.

“Ungh,” she couldn’t help the groan that escaped her as she sat up.

“Evelyn?” Cullen was instantly awake. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine, I’m sorry,” she said, regretting she had disturbed him . “It’s morning… or will be, soon enough.”

He was already wide awake. “No, it’s fine. I… didn’t sleep well.”

“I’m sorry to worry you. Solas seemed confident my sleep is warded against demons.”

“Its not that.” He sat up, wearily rubbing the back of his neck. “Or maybe it is? I’m not for sure when it happened, it’s been so long ago. I think it was the night you came home injured, when I carried you up the tower stairs for the first time. Varric said something that has stuck with me every since, and the more time I spend with you, the more I see, the more right I think he was.”

“What did Varric say?” Evelyn prompted when he fell silent.

“He said everyone loved you. Everyone in the keep, from the serving staff to the war council and everyone in between. He said you could have half the men in Skyhold and a goodly amount of the women with merely a crook of your little finger. He said – and I think I remember this line verbatim – if you had “pointy ears even Chuckles would be standing in line.” He said it to encourage me to say something to you, about how I felt. But the other point was made more keenly.”

“Cullen, you have to know you’re the only…”

He cut her off by dragging her down into his arms, curling around her tightly. “Yes, of course. That’s my ring on your finger, and there is no duplicity in you. That has never been my concern… not since I found out Dorian is only interested in men, at least,” he corrected himself with a smile.

“What I’m trying to say is, Solas has the same affliction all the rest of us suffer from, to some degree. And I have to believe him when he says he would never have left you in danger. I saw the look on his face when you came in injured, when you risked yourself to return to Skyhold rather than resting, when you said you wouldn’t be safe until you were back to me. He loves you, although I would not dream of trying to define it beyond that. Whether he covets my place or not doesn't matter. But I do believe him. Also, I have no doubt he is coming to you in your sleep and sharing in your dreams. I’m not jealous of that, per se, but I’m not completely sure I’m comfortable with it. Not that there’s anything I can do or say to change it.”

“You really think half the Inquisition is in love with me?” she asked, consciously deflecting the topic away from Solas.

“ _In_ love with you? No, not quite. Did some of your companions come to love you, your personal inner circle? Absolutely. And you don’t need to take my word for it, or even Varric’s. Dorian picked up on it instantly. The night I found you in the snow, Leliana stripped to nothing to warm you up, skin to skin. I was… jealous of Leliana, I can admit now. Dorian saw it immediately. He said something to the effect that he was a better option than at least two of the women in the tent with you, and I couldn’t see what he was saying at the time. I didn’t know yet that his interest was limited solely to men. But, looking back, he had already seen the way Sera and Josephine looked at you.”

“No.”

Cullen laughed. “Yes. Evelyn, you flirt with _everyone_. You’re as bad as Dorian. And until you approached me, I had no problem believing your heart was untouchable, or that you were more interested in Sera, or pining for Dorian.”

“I was so careful, though,” she protested. “I never wanted to make anyone uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t. You made people love you – or fall _in_ love with you. And I cannot fault them – or you – for it. You are incredibly charismatic. That’s why the Inquisition worked, why you were the ideal Inquisitor. You have this incredible instinct for winning people over. And apparently, it started when you fell out of the Fade, and Solas knelt over your bed to save your life and ward your dreams.”

“Is that why you had such a hard time, when we first started out, believing what we had was real?”

“I would like to blame much of that on the withdrawals… I had a hard time determining whether or not _anything_ was real. But, yes, I had a very hard time believing you would pick me – broken, addicted, unapproachable me – when you had such a wide field of suitors.”

“It was the shoulders,” Evelyn said, desperate to lighten the mood, and succeeded in drawing a laugh from Cullen. “And the awkward blushes. I figured there was either a brilliantly filthy mind at work behind years of Chantry influence, or a genuine innocent that I was far too tempted to corrupt.”

“I contend neither of those were accurate,” he said, laughing harder.

“Oh, no, sirrah. You have the most wonderfully filthy mind I have yet encountered, and I love you madly for it. Even better, its written so clearly across your face.”

Cullen sputtered a protest and Evelyn raked her fingernails down the muscles of his back, silencing him with a shuddered gasp. “But, honestly. _Shoulders_.”

And then he was dragging her mouth to his and the rest of the morning was lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric's comments are in Of Fear and Lyrium, chapter 9 (Fallen).   
> I think the reason Solas can only be romanced by a female elf is that half-elves are all-human. Fiona tells us this at the end of The Calling, when she explains elves live apart in Alienages because otherwise they would be bred into extinction. Solas would not contribute to the elimination of elvenkind, even if only in a dalliance. So even though she flirted with him HARD and I believe he developed feelings for her, neither of them would ever act on it.


	22. Alone with his Conscience

By noon, Evelyn was riding into Haven with Dagna, Dorian, Anders, and Ser Cannic. They had brought the supplies with them to fashion a litter and two extra harts to carry it; they were expressively forbidden from staying in Haven that night. Cullen and Leliana had insisted on a return to Skyhold, and Dagna and Dorian heartily agreed.

They took their noon meal from horseback, and rode straight through the reconstruction efforts on the town to the path up to the Temple. The rift scar was right where they’d found it before, and Evelyn felt the anchor pulse in recognition.

“I will try to keep the opening in the rift as small as possible,” Evelyn said to Anders as they approached the scar. “There may be something waiting on the other side of it. If that is the case, you must let us carry the fight and keep yourself focused on getting Justice home.”

“Thank you,” Anders replied, but there was something very different in his voice. “I have been trying to return for… so long now. I cannot tell you what this means to me.”

“Give what aid you can to Solas, if you see him. That is all I would ask in return.”

The spirit residing in Anders made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Solas. Such a name. I will do as you ask.”

Dorian stepped to Evelyn’s back, and she relaxed into his presence. “Careful there, Inquisitor. I’m not Cullen.”

As she laughed, he put his hand to hers and curled his right arm around her waist, holding her tightly against him as he began the murmur in her ear. She felt warmth against the back of her hand, and she knew he was trying out Solas’ suggestion. She let the low sound of his voice drown out everything else in the world, and focused on the scar.

She needed it open. Just a touch, just enough for Justice to get home. Better, she needed it to _only_ let Justice home, and nothing back out. She imagined the spirit of justice flowing out of Anders into the Fade, and sent that intent away from her, through the glowing madness that had become her palm.

“Stand ready!” Dagna called to Ser Cannic, pulling a handful of runestones out of a belt pouch as the Warden Templar drew his sword and shield and placed himself beside Anders, near the rift.

A stream of green light shot from her palm, enveloping the scar and Anders in a sickly glow. The glow slowly separated from Anders, forming a humanoid form beside him, and for an instant Anders and Justice saw eye to eye. And then the spirit dissolved, flowing into the rift, and the scar snapped shut.

Anders dropped to his knees. Evelyn swayed on her feet, but Dorian’s arm at her waist kept her upright.

“That was definitely easier,” she told her friend over her shoulder, and he gave her his most devastating smile in return.

“Anders?” Ser Cannic was standing over the mage, sword and shield yet drawn. He seemed to glow lightly blue, and Evelyn wondered if he was actively countering Ander’s magic.

“Kick that back a bit, man, you’re effecting me as well,” Dorian snapped at Cannic, confirming Evelyn’s suspicion.

Evelyn pushed Dorian away from the Templar and simultaneously propelled herself towards Anders. She sunk to her knees beside him, ignoring the hissed warning from Ser Cannic. “You lived with him for years. A decade, nearly. I cannot imagine how different the world must feel.”

“All those people,” he breathed, and his voice was utterly changed from any she had ever heard from him. Justice must have been a bigger influence of him than she originally believed. “He… I… killed all those people. And called it Justice. Vengeance.”

He dragged his eyes up to hers, and the torment she found stole her breath away. “Why have you let me live?”

“Will you help us?” she said, rather than attempt an answer. “Will you allow me to strip away what it is that makes you a Warden, render you nothing but a mage?”

“My life is yours,” he said, and she shuddered at how empty it sounded.

“This scar seems permanent,” Dagna was saying from a few feet away. Evelyn noticed the arcanist had tucked the runestones back into her belt pouch. “I was worried that you opening it, even if only a bit, might create a proper seal when it was closed, but it is definitely still there. I wonder if all the rifts left scars?”

Evelyn didn’t want to consider that possibility. “We could teach some of Leliana’s scouts how to look for them, and send them to the rifts I closed. I have them all marked on the maps Harding gave him over the course of the campaign.”

“First things first,” Dorian gritted. “The Templar needs to cease and desist before we can do anything else here.”

Evelyn glanced up. Cannic was focused on Anders, and the blue glow was still evident. “Stand down, Cannic. You’re interfering with Dorian. Anders is my concern now.”

“He is still a mage,” the Templar said through clenched teeth.

Evelyn shot to her feet. “He has just sworn himself to the Inquisition, which makes him _my problem_. You _will_ stand down.”

“He is still a Grey Warden,” the Templar returned, sword yet drawn.

“Not for long,” Evelyn countered, and calmly moved until she was in between the Templar and the stricken mage. “If I draw on you, you are dead, Ser Cannic. _Stand. Down_.”

Dorian had backed up to the road, and was obviously clear of the Templar’s range. He had his hand up at the ready to support Evelyn if the Templar didn’t see reason. Cannic seemed to only then realize the Inquisitor was armed, daggers sheathed over each shoulder.

The Templar set his jaw, and sheathed his sword. He slung his shield onto his back. “My apologies, Your Worship.”

“Accepted, and understood, Warden,” Evelyn replied, tipping her chin. She threw a glance at Dorian, who nodded to indicate the Templar had drawn back his mana-dampening field.

“Anders,” Evelyn said, turning her eyes back to the mage. He had been watching the exchange with an odd kind of hunger.

“Yes, Inquisitor?” he whispered.

“I cannot guarantee you will survive this.”

He closed his eyes. “That is not a deterrent.”

“Very well. I want you to sit there, and look at Dagna. She’s placing a crystal behind you – whatever you do, don’t approach it. Do you understand? You need to sit completely still, and allow Dagna to observe you.”

As Anders nodded, Evelyn turned her attention back to Cannic, who now appeared almost ashamed. “If you don’t want the taint stripped from you, clear out. Get as far behind me and Dorian as you can.”

“And if I do?”

She hadn’t considered that the Templar-trained Warden would want to be free of the blight. “First, I don’t know for sure if you’ll survive. So this is not a decision to be made lightly. Second, I don’t know what is going to happen with _one_ Warden being cleared of the taint, so _two_ Wardens is a mystery. If this is something you have long considered, and are willing to risk your life to get, then we can discuss it with Dagna.”

“I would ask you to wait, ser Cannic,” Dagna chimed in before the man could speak. “I would like for you to tell me whether you can still sense the taint in Anders after Evelyn and I have attempted our cure.”

Cannic clanged a fist to his breastplate. “I will remove to the road, then.”

Everything happened quickly, then. Dorian took his place behind Evelyn, Dagna laid the crystal vial down and followed Cannic’s escape route towards the road, although she stayed within a few feet of Dorian’s back.

“Enjoy the view,” Dorian teased, and then began to murmur in Evelyn’s ear while the dwarf laughed.

It was almost second nature, now. The soothing distraction of Dorian’s voice, the nonsensical syllables just too low to be discerned. The fluttering of the anchor in her palm, the ache almost a cry for freedom, a kind of homesickness. The strong hand against her waist, the feeling of her friend at her back. The _wrongness_ flowing through Anders, still made laughably small by the surging evil of the brooch Dagna had clasped to his robes. The intense desire to eliminate that _wrong_ , to force it out of the man before her, to free him of every last drop of the blight.

She called the Fade to her, the energy surging through her palm as she allowed herself to be merely a conduit. The stream of green consumed Anders, filling him, and then shot through, disappearing into the crystal. It was over in seconds. Anders slumped to his side and Dorian only waited until Dagna had retrieved the vial from the ground behind him and gave the okay before leaping to check the man for signs of life.

The knowledge Solas had given her – the confidence he had in her, in the anchor – had eased her mind considerably. So much of the exhaustion she had faced after using the anchor in the past seemed to have been caused by fear and doubt, by the stress of trying to protect herself from the anchor. She felt better now, after using the anchor, than she had before – more relaxed, more calm. She felt honest hope for the future, second only to how she felt the night Corypheus was slain.

“He’s alive,” Dorian said, and her spirits soared, impossibly, higher. “And quite stable, all things considered. He should not sit a horse, however, and he definitely needs to be returned to Skyhold post haste.”

“He’s… he’s clear,” Cannic breathed from too close behind her, and Evelyn startled. “I can’t sense him, not at all.”

“Dagna?”

The arcanist held up the crystal vial. The lyrium inside was brilliantly red. Cannic shuddered delicately. “All signs point to success, Inquisitor,” she said cheerfully.

“Now we let the man recover,” Evelyn said with a satisfied nod. “Cannic, help me prep the litter. We’re going home.”


	23. For What Ails You

The councils were regularly seven people now; Evelyn would stop off in Moira and Alistair’s suite on her way out of the tower in the morning and bring the royal couple with her. They would discuss business for maybe an hour or two, and then the war room turned into a parlor; they often sat and conversed until well after noon. Entertaining the visitors was primarily Evelyn’s task, and it was the first time a diplomatic duty was so thoroughly pleasant. Cullen was often drawn away for work, as was Josephine, but Leliana and Dorian spent nearly as much time with Alistair and Moira as the Inquisitor did.

“I think it might have been too much, too fast,” Evelyn said during the business part of council, two days after their trek to Haven. “Losing Justice and the taint on the same day was not the best thing we could have done for Anders.”

Cullen had a comment about what was _best for Anders_ , but he wisely kept that under his breath.

“Actually, now that Justice is removed, Anders is a much more convoluted issue,” Moira said, leaning back in her chair and sipping a glass of the fine red wine they had brought ample quantities of to Skyhold, much to Cullen and Evelyn’s delight. “His crime was committed in Kirkwall, which considers him dead, and doesn’t yet have solid leadership to appeal to. He is no longer a Warden, as far as any of us can tell, and so he is not my responsibility. His crime was against the Chantry, so arguably he should be sent to Val Royeaux… but there is a precedent of forgiveness for acts committed while possessed. That’s why Connor Guerrin was accepted into the Circle at Kinloch, after everything happened in Redcliffe during the Blight. Since Anders was technically possessed by a spirit of the Fade – and neither the Circle nor the Chantry distinguishes between forms of Fade spirits – then the legal precedent is to forgive. Without Circles or Templar oversight, Tranquility isn’t even an option… not that I would willingly recommend that for _anyone_ regardless of crime.”

Dorian nodded vigorously. “Did I not tell you?” Evelyn said, absently. “The Seekers of Truth have a cure for Tranquility. They apparently created the Rite accidentally, and immediately saw its use. They just neglected to tell anyone it was reversible.”

“That is purely heinous,” Dorian gasped.

“Cassandra had a very hard time coming to grips with it when she found out.”

“If you don’t get into the habit of calling her by her new name, you are destined to slip at the worst possible moment,” Josephine chided her.

“She was Cassandra at the time!” Evelyn protested. “Believe me, when she’s wrapped in that damn habit and ridiculous hat, it’s impossible not to remember to call her _Divine Victoria_.”

Leliana barely suppressed a giggle. “I said the same thing to Justinia once she took the Throne.”

“See? And Leliana managed just fine.”

Josephine snorted ungraciously; her perfect manners were finally starting to give way under the onslaught of informality Evelyn and Alistair perpetuated.

“So, about Anders. And the cure,” Moira prompted Evelyn. “When will you be willing to try it on me?”

“Right after she does it to me, my love,” Alistair said gently. “I will not put you in danger before we know it is safe.”

“Actually,” Evelyn said, shifting a little uncomfortably in her chair, “She outranks you in this. Since she’s your Warden Commander and all, and this is a Warden concern rather than a Fereldan one, I’m yielding to her say.”

Alistair pinned her to the chair with a glare, and Evelyn suddenly understood how he’d managed to hold down the country in Moira’s absence. He had definitely learned to use the weight of his crown. She had the power of the Inquisition behind her, however, and she did not back down.

“In other news, only one of us is the last descendant of Calenhad,” Cullen said lightly, “and ultimately avoiding civil war in Ferelden is a higher concern. Which means we must be absolutely sure of the safety before attempting it on you, my King.”

The subtle reminder that Cullen was technically one of his subjects did nothing to mollify Alistair.

“I am not standing aside and letting you risk yourself-“

“You aren’t being given that option, Warden,” Moira replied.

Alistair’s jaw snapped closed audibly, and Evelyn winced. Moira’s eyes were clearly apologetic, but he had forced her hand.

“Anders is definitely alive,” Dorian ventured. “And as best as Dagna and I can tell, his continued discomfort is a result of too drastic a change in status in too short a time; his system is in shock. Since, as far as we know, none of the rest of the Wardens are secret abominations, that concern should not apply.”

“When do you want to try, Moira?” Evelyn asked. She subtly emphasized the word _try_.

Moira did not miss it. “I have utmost faith in this, and in you, Evelyn. My affairs are in order. We may proceed at your leisure.”

Alistair’s hands had balled into fists at her mention of affairs. With a curt nod, he excused himself from the room.

“He is terrified of losing you,” Cullen said gently as the door swung shut behind the retreating King.

“Go keep him company,” Evelyn whispered to her husband, knowing Cullen could definitely empathize with Alistair’s plight.

As Cullen left, Evelyn address Moira again. “We could go down right now. Dagna is waiting on us.”

Moira stood with alacrity. “I have looked to this moment for years. Please, let us go.”

Everyone stood then, but as they made their way to the undercroft, Leliana did not peel away from their group to return to her chambers as Josephine had. “I will come, if I may,” she asserted, as Evelyn crooked an eyebrow at her.

Moira’s face softened. “Of course. Thank you.”

The three of them trooped into the undercroft. Harritt looked up from the armor he was repairing and sighed. “Here and now, is it? Is it rabbits today, or people?”

“Queens,” Moira said, and the smith snapped upright.

“I believe Master Dennett had some questions about sourcing material for horseshoes, Master Harritt. Could I convince you to approach him about it on my behalf?” Evelyn asked smoothly.

Harritt jumped at the opportunity to be gone. ”Anything for you, Inquisitor. Thank you.”

“Oh, this is so exciting,” Dagna said, retrieving a vial of blue lyrium tagged _Moira Cousland Theirin_ and setting it on a stool.

Moira sat on the second stool Dagna placed, watching the dwarf as she dug through her workbench for the black dagger. Dagna ducked her head through the leather thong that suspended the blacked lyrium around her neck.

As Dorian stepped into his accepted position behind Evelyn, she spun around suddenly. Their faces were uncomfortably close together, but she pretended to ignore it. “Stop,” she said, and Dorian froze. “Get Anders.”

“What? Whatever for?”

“Dorian,” she said stepping back an inch and putting her hands on his shoulders. “You are the only man other than Cullen himself who I want standing behind me. But you can’t heal worth a shit.”

She was afraid he would be offended, but the Tevinter burst out laughing. “As your illustrious husband informed me when we returned home from Weisshaupt. If I had known he catalogued your scars, I would have left a message for him.”

She swatted at him. “You’ll have to go yourself. I don’t think anyone else would be willing to fetch Anders for me.”

Dorian returned before Evelyn could finish completely explaining their exchange to the women left in the room. Leliana was still laughing with Moira about Cullen’s _catalog of scars_ when the two mages entered the room.

Anders looked terrible. Evelyn almost didn’t recognize him at first. He was upright and hale, but the tormented look in his eyes was, if anything, deeper than before.

Evelyn put her hands out to him, drew him into a hug. “How are you?” she asked. He went stiff and still in her arms.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

She drew back, leaving her hands on his shoulders. “Giving you a hug?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re helping me, and I appreciate that.”

He blinked at her, unsure, and leaned forward slightly. Evelyn drew him back into the hug, and was glad to feel him lift one hand to her back. The response was weak, but it was present; it was progress.

“You are the best healer in Skyhold,” she said, drawing him across the room from Moira and Dagna to a stool near the wall. “Dorian is my best friend and an incredible mage, but he couldn’t heal a paper cut without leaving a scar.”

Anders snorted, what was perhaps supposed to be a laugh, and Evelyn felt again buoyed by hope.

“No, really, look. Here on my right thumb.”

“That was _not_ a paper cut!” Dorian called, outraged, and it drew a more genuine laugh out of Anders.

“That’s… rather pathetic, actually.”

“I know, right?” Evelyn agreed with a smile as Dorian spluttered across the room.

“So what do you need a healer for?”

“Many things. But right at this moment, I want someone on standby just in case this doesn’t go smoothly for Moira.”

“Moira,” he echoed, looking up at the Warden Commander. “Moira doesn’t trust me to heal her.”

“If Moira is dying on the floor, it won’t be up to her, now, will it?” Evelyn said firmly.

Anders rewarded her with another laugh. “No, I suppose it would not.”

As Evelyn stood to return to Dorian, Anders reached out and caught her sleeve, spun her gently back around to him. “You are the Herald of Andraste? You slew Corypheus?”

She tilted her head as she met his eyes. They were still tortured, but there was something else there, too, now. Curiosity, perhaps. “I prefer the title ‘Inquisitor’. Andraste and I have never conversed, so I can’t exactly speak for her.”

Another snort of a laugh. “And you married a Templar? Cullen, from Kirkwall?”

“I married a _former_ Templar, yes. One who quit taking lyrium and fought to distance himself from the order after what he watched Meredith do in Kirkwall.”

Anders frowned at her. “You say this, and yet still he hates me.”

“Anders,” she said, placing a hand to his shoulder, “that has less to do with you being a mage and more to do with the memory of the people who died the night the Chantry was destroyed. So much was lost.”

For a moment she feared it was the wrong thing to say, but after an extended flinch, Anders met her eyes. His gaze was clearer. “So you believe you married a just man.”

“I married a _man_ ,” she corrected him. “I accept him for what he is, for what he has seen, for what he has done. The choices he made – for good or for ill – have made him into the person I met, and I can begrudge him none of his past. One’s past is only one facet of who one is – the path one walked, but not the person who walked it.”

“You would give me a second chance?” The question left him shaking; Evelyn could see him hanging on her every word.

“I was given one. In fact, I was given many.”

“You have not my sins.”

“I have the blood of thousands on my hands, Anders,” she said, a little more harshly than she meant. “Mages who were only following orders, Templars led astray by their officers, Wardens mind-controlled by Corypheus. If the bodies I have left behind me are any less damning than the ones behind you, it is only because history is written by the victors.”

“You must not compare us,” Anders said, a new fire in his eyes. “You have saved the world I damned.”

“Then you did a piss-poor job of it,” she said, straightening. He laughed in surprise, and more of the torment seemed to clear.

“I understand,” he said slowly, “why you are called Andraste’s Herald.”

It was her turn to snort. “We can chit chat about theology later. For now, I need you to man up and be ready in case I accidentally kill the Queen of Ferelden. You might be only getting a second chance because Dorian can barely heal a tired rabbit, but I need you to take it and run with it.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” he replied, sitting straighter on the stool.

As Evelyn finally returned to Dorian, she pointedly ignored the look on his face. “Another convert, I see,” he said to the back of her head as she spun on her heel and pulled his arm around her waist.

“Fuck you, Dorian,” she said, and even though her heart wasn’t in it, his laugh was as real as ever.

The anchor flared as soon as she heard Dorian’s voice in her ear, the summoning of power into her hand becoming reflex. The _wrongness_ in Moira was the deepest Evelyn had yet seen; she could feel it writhing just below the surface of her skin, and it drew her attention to the outside of Moira’s left knee. She closed her left hand into a fist, trying to buy herself a few moments of time.

“Moira,” she said, amused by the detachment in her voice. “What’s wrong with your left knee?”

The Queen visibly blanched. “Andraste’s ass, you can tell? From there?” She hitched up the simple if well-made dress she had taken to wearing around Skyhold, twisting a bit on the stool to expose the mottled skin across her knee. “It’s the taint coming through,” she said. “The first sign of the Calling. I have years, yet, but…”

“The Blight hastened it,” Dagna said assuredly from Leliana’s side, a few paces away. “Too many darkspawn, too many Wardens.”

Evelyn nodded, and Dorian once again began his murmured nonsensical chant. Evelyn’s left hand opened, and she focused again on the _wrongness_ that was being pumped steadily through Moira’s veins. It permeated her skin, her organs. It was deeper than Evelyn could have imagined… and yet still it seemed benign compared to the brooch pinned to the Queen’s chest. It needed to be _out_ of her, the _wrongness_  stripped from her blood and tissues and leaving her clean and free.

The green of the anchor appeared in her peripheral vision, and she could feel the power of the Fade build in her hand. _Clean the Queen_ , she thought, focusing so hard on her friend the rest of the world disappeared. _Save the Queen._ Power erupted from her hand, consuming Moira in vivid light. Every scrap of _wrongness_ had to be purged, every individual fleck had to be stripped away. All that could be left was Moira herself.

It took longer, this time, for the green light to recede away. Evelyn could almost watch it funnel into the crystal and dissipate. And then it was gone and Moira was falling, tumbling off the stool to the stones beneath their feet, and Evelyn was moving, throwing herself through the air to catch her before she landed. Her right arm came up under Moira’s head, her left wrapped around the Queen’s body, and she dug in her heels, falling backward to land heavily on her sacrum.

“That is a broken buttbone,” Anders said as he crossed the room, somehow seeming calm in the face of Dorian and Leliana rushing to her side. Dagna, ever the scientist, was hurrying to the crystal, although Evelyn could see from where she sat that the lyrium within it had darkened to the color of dried blood, a red so deep it was approaching black.

It took impossibly long for Leliana to arrive. “Moira, Moira, my love, Moira, please,” the Nightingale was whispering, her voice scarcely more than a breath, her hands going to the Queen’s head, to turn her face away from where it was tucked against Evelyn’s shoulder.

Dorian’s hands were on her shoulders then, and his voice in her ear. “How the bloody hell did you move so fast?”

“The anchor,” Anders said, coolly, waiting a few feet away until a space had cleared and he could assess the Queen. “You were too close to see it, I think, but it wraps her like mana when she uses it. She pulled the energy straight from the Fade and used it to propel herself across the room. It’s not unlike using magic, if you think about it.”

“Owwwwwww,” Moira moaned, her voice music to their ears. “Fuuuuuuuuck. That was as bad as the Joining, for fuck’s sake. Do you want to punch me in the tit a few times for good measure, you fucking beast?”

Evelyn started to laugh, weakly, and she leaned against Dorian. Anders knelt at the other mage’s right, and held his hands out to Moira’s head. “She seems hale,” he said, his brows narrowing in thought. “But somehow… thinner. Like she suddenly lost a lot of weight, or is desperately dehydrated, but not.”

“Let’s see your knee,” Evelyn said, shifting so the Queen was rolled to her back and leaning against Leliana. Leliana and Dorian were mirror images of each other, sitting on their asses on the cold stone of the undercroft floor, feet spread and weakened women leaning in their laps. Evelyn didn’t notice, as she tugged at Moira’s skirt, propriety be damned.

“Maker’s balls, Evelyn, if I knew you were so interested in what was under my skirt I would suggested we send our husbands off hunting for a weekend.”

Evelyn started to laugh, her friend’s ability to joke loosening a knot a fear in her stomach.

Anders had his hands on Moira’s knee, then, and the tears started to pour out of Evelyn’s eyes.

“What?” Moira said sitting up. “What is- oh sweet Maker.”

The flesh of her knee was pink and slightly swollen, but it was her own. The discoloration from the taint was utterly gone.

Anders was running his hands across Moira’s body, keeping a precious few inches of space away from actual contact, and Evelyn watched as the mage seemed to finish and rest back on his haunches. “I can’t find any sickness, and sign of the taint. We’ll have to ask Alistair, to be sure, but…”

The door to the undercroft burst open, and the man in question surged into the room.

“She’s gone!” he was saying, frantically. “There was an Warden in the undercroft and then she was-“

“Free,” Moira said, looking up at him from the floor with tears in her eyes. “She was a Warden no more.”

Alistair froze on the landing, his heart in his eyes. Cullen was slowing descending the stairs behind him, clearly expecting the worst.

Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden, last descendant of Calenhad the Great, took the stairs down from the landing slowly; ponderously slow. He crossed the room in disbelief, dropping to his knees next to his wife of nearly a decade. His hands hovered over her cheeks, as if afraid to touch her.

“I met you the morning before your Joining,” he whispered. “I didn’t really _look_ at you before then. I couldn’t, not with the Joining yet in front of you. I have never seen you, _really seen you_ , without also being able to feel your presence, without being able to close my eyes and point at precisely where you stood.”

Moira closed her eyes. “It is so odd,” she said softly. “I know you’re here, but I can’t feel anything. You, Cannic, the brooches, the vials of red lyrium. They’re all gone. This is what it is like to actually be alone with one’s thoughts.”

Alistair pulled his hands away from her, leaning back. Moira opened her eyes, and when she saw the distance he put between them, his sudden change in stance, the heartbreak was instantly plain in her eyes.

“No,” Alistair said quickly. “You are too perfect. You are perfect and clean and whole and I am still a walking disease.”

He stood up from the floor, staggered two steps back. Leliana’s arms tightened around Moira.

“When is it my turn?” he asked Evelyn, his voice broken.

She moved her shoulders up and back, stretching her back and flexing her arms. “If Dagna has a vial ready,” she said, making a snap decision, “I am well enough to do it again.”

Dagna snorted. “If I have a vial ready. No faith! No faith in me whatsoever. _If I have a vial ready_.” She turned to her workbench, moving a couple ages of notes and retrieving another crystal vial, a chip of blue lyrium visible within, a dangling tag reading _Alistair Theirin_.

“Don’t come down from the landing,” Evelyn called to Cullen, as he looked at the rows of vials on Dagna’s desk and shuddered, nodding. “Leliana, get Moira up there with him, and the three of you stay put.”

“Are you sure about this?” Dorian asked, standing her up.

“Oh, absolutely,” Anders answered for her. “She seems to have more energy now than she did before, if a bit beat up by it.”

“You can sense that in me?”

The now-former-warden nodded. “As you said, I’m the best healer in Skyhold.”

Dorian snorted. “That’s like saying I’m the sexiest Tevinter in Skyhold. There’s no competition when you’re the only one.”

Anders managed a smile. “You said it, not me.”

Dagna was sitting Alistair on the bench Moira had fallen off of, although she surreptitiously tossed a thick down comforter onto the floor at his feet, and Evelyn wondered if the dwarf actually slept in the undercroft. Alistair’s eyes never left Moira’s face, and as Leliana got her up the stairs and Cullen helped her sit, the Queen seemed to search for her husband on reflex, breaking into a wide smile when their eyes met.

“It hurts,” she said dryly.

“On a scale of one to Joining…”

“Joining,” she said immediately, and Alistair flinched.

“Makes sense, I suppose.”

Evelyn was standing again, feeling much like Anders had described – well, hale, but beaten badly. She braced herself against Dorian and felt the mage fold around her. His left hand pressed into hers and she cast her focus into the King of Ferelden.

The _wrongness_ was far weaker with him than it had been with Evelyn, although stronger than Anders. She wondered if there wasn’t something to what Dagna had said about the taint being strengthened by proximity to itself and exposure to a full Blight. While Moira was away, Alistair was the only Warden in Denerim, as the rest were stationed in Amaranthine. After the Blight, he’d had little contact with other Wardens, compared to Moira’s being in command of their order in Ferelden and travelling to Weisshaupt.

She took a deep breath, and focused on clearing her mind. Dorian’s murmur grew louder, and she allowed it to focus her. _Intent_ , she reminded herself. What did she _want_. She focused on the taint, comparing it to-

She froze.

“Dagna,” she called, suddenly terrified. “The brooch. Get the brooch off Moira and put it on Alistair.”

Moira seemed to notice, then, that it was still on her, and frantically fought to detach the brooch from her clothes. Evelyn thrust away from Dorian and surged up the stairs, completely bypassing Moira and Leliana to wrap her arms around Cullen and tackle him, rolling him across the landing to the other flight of stairs and tumbling down to the lower level.

Dagna rushed to Moira, deftly removing the brooch and racing away with it, sealing it into a leaded cask.

“I’m alright,” Cullen was saying, wrapping his arms around Evelyn in an attempt to soothe her. “It didn’t touch me. I didn’t hear it. I’m fine. Evelyn, it’s alright.”

Shaking, Evelyn leaned back to look at him, searching his eyes. “Are you sure? Let’s have Anders-“

“No,” he said, setting his jaw. Evelyn could feel his muscles tighten with what she suspected was anger. “I said I am fine.”

“Go wait for us in the war room, then, “ she said, not unkindly. “I’m afraid it’s not safe for you here. I’m sorry.”

Cullen slowly disengaged from her, standing up and then lifting her from the floor.

She was sore all over from the tumble, and she couldn’t hide the wince of pain as she stood from Cullen.

“Come with me,” he said. “You’re in no shape to-“

“I owe it to him,” she said. “I’ll come get you soon, we’ll make an early night of it.”

He nodded and made a dignified retreat from the undercroft.

“Ugh,” Evelyn said, stretching. “If we ever do this again, it’s being taken _out_ of Skyhold.”

“I’m so sorry, Inquisitor,” Dagna said. Evelyn was vaguely aware that the arcanist had been apologizing profusely for some time now.

“Dagna, stop,” she replied. “We all got complacent. It was as much my fault as your’s.”

“Inquisitor,” Anders said formally, standing between her and Dorian. Alistair, she noted, had neither moved from the stool nor torn his gaze from Moira.

“Yes, Anders?”

“You actually did break your ass. It will affect your focus. You need to do something about it before you try anything with the King. It isn’t safe for him if you’re distracted.”

“That’s actually a fairly reasonable statement,” Dorian agreed, obviously surprised by how far Anders had progressed just since the Tevinter had fetched him. “It would also be more reasonable for him to _fix your ass_ than me.”

Evelyn snorted a laugh. “Fine. Get this over with.”

Anders twirled one finger, indicating Evelyn should turn around, and she couldn’t help but flush at the implication made by Dorian’s raised eyebrows. “Fuck you, Dorian,” she said, spinning in place.

Ander’s hands rested gently in the small of her back, and one slid down to very top of the crack of her ass, and she felt one finger gently rest in the cleft. The pain she was dully fighting was definitely focused there, and she hissed from between her teeth. Anders laughed, then, and it was another progression closer to true humor. It seemed all it took for him to thrive was the tiniest modicum of forgiveness and acceptance. Evelyn would feel good about helping him if the entire scenario wasn’t so blasted _sad_.

The bones of her hips and pelvis suddenly shot through with ice, and she hurled a series of curses at the wall, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. Then it was done, and a large amount of the pain receded. She still felt like she had been beaten within an inch of her life, but at least it was a general ache rather than a specific hurt.

“Thanks, Anders,” she said, aiming for gratitude but settling for self-deprecation. “You honestly saved my ass.”

“My pleasure, Inquisitor,” he replied, and he sounded sincere – and surprised.

“Alright. Alistair, I need a moment.”

“At your leisure, Evelyn,” the King replied, gaze still firmly locked with Moira’s.

She sat on the floor, cross-legged, and fought through the stress of the last few minutes. Fear for Moira, fear for Alistair, fear for Cullen, fear for herself. If she were honest, turning her back to Anders was one of the hardest things she’d done in recent memory. That act of trust took more from her than it gave to him, she was sure. But the next time – if it came – would be easier. 

She lifted her left hand and gazed at the anchor. It seemed to react to her breath, twisting lightly away as she blew on it.

“Solas,” she whispered, and it seemed to flicker in recognition. The anchor bound her to the elf somehow. She didn’t understand it, and it made no sense, but it was the only explanation that _felt_ right, that was comfortable. Now that the Breach was gone, the orb and Corypheus destroyed, it almost felt like it anchored her to him, rather than just to the Fade.

The memory of finding him in the Fade relaxed her further, and the tickle of memory of many nights’ dreams finally brought her enough peace that she could find a smile. He was watching her, protecting her dreams as much as Cullen protected her heart, body, and soul. If her sleeping mind reached out to the Fade, Solas would be there.

_I would not have left you in any danger, Lethallan_.

She stood, bracing herself against Dorian once again. Dagna was triple-checking everything was in place; brooch clipped to Alistair’s mantle, crystal vial of blue lyrium perched on the stool behind him, black dagger hanging securely from her neck.

“Ready, darling?” Dorian said, his breath warm against her hair.

“Let’s light him up, handsome,” she said in reply.

His voice began to rumble in her ear, her psyche warming to it and immediately seeking the anchor. The feeling of _wrong_ in Alistair was still there, almost made to seem miniscule in comparison to the seething brooch on his chest. This was what she was here for. This was her task, her calling. She focused on the taint in him, seeing it not yet permeating his tissues but making a majority of his blood volume.

“He’s going to need you, Anders,” she said, and then all she could see was the taint, and the green fire that would purge it from his body. Every ounce, every fleck of _wrong_ was sought out, stripped from his flesh and torn from his body. She would leave none of it behind, not one fragment could stay. All of it, _all of the wrongness_ , was pulled out of the King in a blinding surge of green, and then sucked into the lyrium lying ready nearby.

As the light from the anchor faded, Alistair’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he crumpled onto the feather bed, looking like nothing more than a corpse . Anders was there first, calling for a healing potion, for clean water, and then his hands glowed white and he leaned over the king, brows drawn.

There was crying in the background, the fear unquestionably Moira’s, and Evelyn was moving, pulling the potions from the alchemy station in the corner of the undercroft, passing the red liquid to Anders for his approval before pouring it down Alistair’s throat. His head was tipped back so he wouldn’t choke, and the sight of him swallowing instinctively pressed the fear back a pace in Evelyn’s heart. He was still alive.

“Blood volume,” Anders was saying. “He suddenly lost blood volume, it’s like shock.”

“It wasn’t anywhere else. It wasn’t like you or Moira – it was all in his blood. Almost none in any of his other tissues.”

“He needs water, and lots of it. He’s going to take awhile to recover, as well. And hourly healing potions until he regains consciousness.”

“Moira.” Evelyn stood and extended her hand to the Queen. The former Warden, cheeks tear-streaked and face wrecked with fear, stood slowly in answer to the summons.

“Come here,” she said, feeling the smile play at one corner of her mouth. Moira staggered down the stairs and across the room, stumbling to a halt next to Alistair. Her eyes were closed, and Evelyn had to wrap an arm around her shoulders before Moira would risk a look.

Alistair was breathing steadily, evenly, looking for all the world like he had simply fallen asleep on Dagna’s comforter on the floor.

Another sob was ripped from Moira’s throat and she fell to the floor next to him.

“Pack up all the lyrium,” Evelyn told Dagna. “I am going to go check on Cullen and get a couple of Bull’s Chargers to come move Alistair up to his rooms. Leliana, show them the passage when they arrive?” The Intelligencer nodded. Evelyn gestured at the mages. “Anders, Dorian, with me.”

“I should probably stay with the King,” the former warden said, hesitating.

“My husband might be dead in the war room,” Evelyn said, fighting to keep the fear from her voice. “If I’m wrong, you can come right back to the king.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangers would mean more if I wasn't posting all these chapters at the same time.


	24. Forgiveness and Forgetting

Dorian and Anders were both on her heels when she crested the stairs and strode across the main hall. Josephine glanced up as Evelyn and the mages passed through her office, but went back to her work, unconcerned.

Evelyn opened the door to the war room and saw Cullen sitting in the chair-

-gripped in a seizure.

Anders practically flew across the room, sliding to the Commander’s side as Evelyn hissed to Dorian. “Chargers to the king. Bull to me. _Run_.”

Dorian ran.

Anders had one hand hovered six inches or so above Cullen’s chest, and was _pushing_ something like light through the man, while his other hand was pressed against Cullen’s forehead. Evelyn stripped out of her coat, tying the sleeves around Cullen’s wrists and looping the body of the garment under the chair, effectively tying him down.

“That may be unnecessary,” Anders said, not so much as glancing at Evelyn’s now-naked chest.

“If he wakes, he’s going right for your throat,” she said grimly in reply.

As if on cue, Cullen’s eyes snapped open, and he lunged at Anders. Rather, attempted to lunge, Evelyn’s coat holding him to the chair.

“How strong is that material?” Anders gritted, focusing on whatever it was he was trying to do to Cullen’s chest.

“Not strong enough,” she said, circling around behind Cullen and cupping her hands over his eyes. She put her lips to his ear and began to Chant.

“Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever. But the one who repents, who has faith unshaken by the darkness of the world, and boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight in the Maker’s law and creations: she shall know the peace of the Maker’s benediction.”

Cullen started to relax, and Evelyn could hear Anders whisper to her what he was doing. She didn’t try to listen to him, afraid it would disturb the pace of the Chant, but more let it wash over her, and tried to absorb the meaning more organically. Cullen hadn’t actually touched the lyrium – but lyrium is a magical substance, likely a living one, and close proximity to such a potent form of it as the blighted brooch had given his body the _memory_ of the drug. Much like the smell of food makes the mouth water, _feeling_ lyrium had his body fighting for it, searching for it, readying itself for a dose. Anders was doing everything in his power to tide Cullen’s body over with magic until it could forget the need for lyrium.

“Cole,” she whispered harshly. “Cole, we need you.” Cullen stiffened, and she quickly took back up the Chant.

“The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.”

“I can help,” she heard suddenly beside her, and Anders gasped in shock.

“He needs to forget, Cole, make him forget _lyrium_.” She let go of Cullen and threw herself over his shoulder, tackling Anders to the ground.

”Spirit,” he hissed, the shock of memory shaking him to his core.

“Let him go, Anders. Let him help. Trust me. You have to trust me. Let him be.”

Cullen sudden gasped behind her, and she heard his breathing even out.

“What in Andraste’s name is going on?” he asked, clearly confused as to why his half-naked wife would be wrestling Thedas’ most wanted criminal on the floor at his feet while he was tied to a chair by her missing clothes.

“The spirit,” Anders warned, and she let him toss her aside.

Cole was gone.

“His name,” she said evenly, crawling across the floor to untie Cullen, “is Cole. And his history is confusing. But he is not possessing a body, he is not any danger, and he has dedicated his existence to helping.”

“And he helped Cullen how?”

“I made him forget,” Cole’s voice came from the center of the table, where he was now sitting cross-legged. “You said his body was remembering, and I made him forget.”

“Remembering?” Cullen asked, weakly.

“The lyrium,” Evelyn answered, freeing her jacket and slowly pulling it on. “You didn’t actually touch the lyrium, but you were close enough to feel it, even if only subconsciously. It’s not like quitting alcohol… lyrium is _magic_ , its _alive_ , and your body reacted to it. You were seizing when we got to you.”

“That explains the headache.”

She was clasping the last button, warily watching Anders watching Cole when the Iron Bull kicked open the door.

“Bull,” Evelyn said calmly, standing in front of the big qunari, “I need you to get Cullen upstairs to our room. Throw him over your shoulder if you need to.”

“As you say, Boss,” he said, taking the seeming calm of the room in stride. “Dorian seemed to think there was a bit of an emergency in here.”

“There was. Between Anders and Cole, Cullen’s life is no longer in danger.”

That earned the mage a sharp look from both men. Anders ignored them both, still studying Cole. Cole seemed to be studying him back.

“My own fault,” Cole said suddenly, and Evelyn quickly moved to stand closer to Anders, for the inevitable realization his mind was being read. “Took him in, twisted him, turned him. My own sin blacked him, like the Tevinters in the golden city. Should have been pure, should have been different, should have been childlike, should have been like this, should have been _different_.”

“You let him stay?” Anders asked, incredulous.

Evelyn managed a shrug, exhaustion threatening to bear her down to the floor. She tried to keep an eye on all the men in the room at once, and it wasn’t helping her preserve her strength. Bull was approaching Cullen, who made a pleading sort of gesture and stood on his own. Bull cross his arms in front of him and shook his head slowly at Cullen, who started walking toward the door. The qunari let him get two paces ahead before swinging an arm of Cullen’s over his shoulders, nearly lifting the (comparatively) smaller man off the floor.

“I get to build the Inquisition however I choose to. I decided to make it inclusive, as inclusive as possible. Cole helped me escape an envy demon who was impersonating Lord Seeker Lucius. He helped the hurt and the dying here after we lost our first headquarters in Haven. He came very highly recommended by a mage and Templar in Orlais, if you don't want to take my word for it. But what was important to me was that he earned his place."

“If he can stay, I can stay.” Cole said, and Evelyn had to wonder if it was Ander’s thoughts or Cole’s own.

“You can both stay,” she said gently. “You have both earned my trust. Until you break it, you have a place here.”

“And after, if you’re Blackwall. If you’re too dangerous.” Cole said solemnly.

“Yes,” she sighed, forced to concede the point, “and after if you’re too dangerous.”

“I feel like there’s a whole new world of history here, new rules and names and personages I have to learn before I could ever hope to find a place,” Anders said, and she could hear it again – the faint glimmer of hope in his voice.

“First,” she said, drawing him away from table, “we find you a purpose.” Cole stuck his head under her arm like they had just watched the Iron Bull do for Cullen, and after a beat Anders did the same on her right side. She found herself leaning on them both more than she would like to admit. The scene they would cause in the main hall as they passed through be a nightmare to explain away… Cullen and then Evelyn assisted out of the war room. “Once you have a purpose, you can figure out where that purpose fits in with who you think you are, and who you want to be. Then you worry about what everybody else thinks.”

“But I’m not supposed to tell you,” Cole solemnly informed him. Evelyn laughed weakly, noticing a bit belatedly that Josephine was no longer in her office.

“No, Cole is not supposed to tell you what other people are thinking. Especially when they’re standing right there.”

“I’ve gotten better,” Cole supplied, and Evelyn had to agree again.

“You’re worth your weight in gold, Cole.”

Josephine had cleared everyone out of the main hall but for two workman and the Chargers. The scaffolding they used to have in the hall was being re-erected, and that process seemed to be taking up fully half of the floor in the hall.

“Josie, you are a fucking genius,” Evelyn grinned as Anders and Cole helped her around the corner to the long stairs up to her tower.

Josephine waved a dismissive hand to Evelyn. “You think so now, wait until you see the new stained glass I’ve ordered.”

Evelyn laughed until they got to the base of her tower, and then remembered the long stair up.

“Which floor are you?” Anders asked, a bit grimly.

“The worst one,” Cole answered, and Anders’ only reply was a long sigh.

“Set me down on the steps. I’ll wait for Bull.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Krem said, coming down the stairs with Grim and Dalish. “Hand her off, boys.”

And so Evelyn made the trip up the stairs to her tower dangling over Krem’s shoulder. Dalish and Grim took Anders and Cole back with them to the tavern; Evelyn had full faith in the Chargers’ ability to keep one lost apostate out of trouble. “He’s one of us now,” she warned them as they left, and Grim grunted acknowledgment.

“Andraste’s perfect teeth, Inquisitor, you don’t weigh anything,” Krem said as they neared her door. “And here Bull was saying you’d put on some pounds.”

“You tell Bull he can shove his opinion right up his ass,” she said, one elbow in Krem’s armor, propping up her chin in her palm.

“Duly noted, Boss,” the qunari’s voice sounded from somewhere behind her, and she flinched half a second before his broad hand came down across her backside.

“I had a broken tailbone earlier, you prick,” she hissed. It hurt less than it could have, she supposed.

“Good thing that was earlier and not right now,” he replied as Krem carried her past him and dropped her into bed next to Cullen.

“Anders went with Grim and Dalish,” she informed Bull before he and Krem could leave. “He’s had the spirit removed from him, as well as the darkspawn taint. He is neither abomination or warden anymore… but be careful with him. I need him.”

“For what? Bull grunted.

“Dorian can’t heal worth a shit,” she said. “And there’s not enough gold in Thedas for me to ask Vivienne to return.”

That got a laugh out of him. “Fair enough. But the man is batshit crazy. You know that, right?”

“I know, Bull. But he isn’t the first crazy we’ve had, and this might be the best place for him. Skyhold is crawling with Templars – which could be both good and bad. Just keep an eye on him until I can get him under some wings, alright?”

“Anything you say, Boss.”

And then they left, shutting the door behind them, and suddenly Evelyn was alone in bed with her husband.

“What happened with Alistair?” he asked.

“He is well, I believe,” she said, giving him the conclusion before the explanation. “They’ve all felt differently… the two rabbits, the three Wardens. The blight seems to inhabit everyone in a different rate, in different ways. Anders had been alone for so long, and didn’t Join until after the Blight, so it wasn’t too pervasive in him. Moira seemed saturated in it – the skin of her knee was mottled and brown, she was already starting to turn. But Alistair…? For some reason, it was only in his blood. No where else. So when I pulled it out of him…”

“…it was like he suddenly bled out,” Cullen finished. “Maker's breath.”

“Anders was there. He got him stable and prescribed him water and hourly healing potions until Alistair wakens, and then as much water as they can get in him. It will take longer for him to recover… we might be playing host to the Fereldan royal family for longer than we originally anticipated.”

“Good thing they’re so easy to get along with,” Cullen said with a sigh, settling himself a bit in their blankets and then reaching for her.

“I was so scared,” she admitted, allowing him to pull her against his chest. “I was scared I’d killed Moira. I was scared I was misreading Anders. I was scared I’d killed Alistair. And I was scared – so utterly terrified – that when I walked into the war room I was going to find you dead. Finding you in the middle of a seizure was only moderately better, but only because it meant you were at least _alive_.”

“I’m sorry. You told me to stay out of the undercroft. I never honestly believed just being _close_ to lyrium was going to be such a problem.”

“If you’re to continue to be responsible for the Templars, you need to make sure the lyrium stores are kept somewhere outside Skyhold. And you need to have Cole on standby. His ability to make people _forget_ seems to extend to your body’s memory of lyrium. I’m going to ask him to keep an eye on you.”

Cullen grunted. “If I have to choose between him and Anders, I suppose I would choose Cole.”

“Talk to me about Anders.”

“Not in bed. The man isn’t coming into our bed, in any form.”

Evelyn sighed, rolled away from him, and stood up. “Talk to me about Anders.”

Cullen covered his face with a pillow, but Evelyn could still hear the long string of curses.

“That tells me what you think of his mother,” she said evenly.

“He blew up the Chantry!” Cullen exploded, rolling out of bed on the opposite side, leaning over the mattress to face her. “What else do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, maybe that he had a clinic set up in Darktown where he healed the poor? Maybe that he was an abomination in almost every way until I pulled the spirit out of him? Or how about the fact that he saved two lives today, and _one of them was yours_? Oh, and the other was _your King’s_. Our _friend_.”

“You have this incredible capacity for forgiveness,” Cullen rasped. “But maybe if you were _there_ , maybe if you saw the _devastation_ in Kirkwall, knew some of the _hundreds_ of people he killed…”

“Oh? Like High Enchanter Fiona? Or Knight-Corporal Leina? Or _Stroud_?”

“Evelyn-“

“Or maybe the _thousands_ of people I killed on campaign? The wardens in Adamant? The rebels in the Hinterlands? The Avvar in the Fallow Mire? Or what about the people I just _left to die_ , like the mages in Redcliffe or your men on the mountain in Haven?”

“None of that is anything like what he did.”

“You’re right! Because those were all decisions _I made_ and _not_ the act of a man possessed by a spirit of _vengeance_ who witnessed the fucking atrocities Meredith committed!”

“So he’d forgiven because he made himself an abomination? Is that how it works?”

Evelyn snarled at him. “No, it works because you can forgive _me_. Its hypocrisy of the worst kind to whitewash my past and vilify his. I freed _Justice_. I sent the spirit possessing Anders back to the Fade. You never met this man. He has to come to grips with the crimes he committed when there was someone else sharing his head. And since he’s directly saved your life _once_ and indirectly saved countless lives by saving Hawke’s life and Moira’s life before then, the _least_ you can do is _give him a fucking chance at redemption_.”

They glared over the bed at each other, breath ragged with guilt and anger.

“Do you really feel that way?” he asked, the tone in his voice more even. “Do you think what you’ve done in the war against Corypheus any way compares to what Anders – and Justice, I grant you that – did to the Chantry in Kirkwall?”

“No,” she answered. “I think it worse.”

The look on his face slowly bled into horror. “Evelyn, no-“

“Do you remember the day I returned from the Hinterlands and bought half the population of Haven a drink? Do you remember what I told you that next morning? About the bag of money I had? I killed hundreds of people in the Hinterlands, in those first few weeks alone. And you can’t tell me that _every_ mage, that _every_ Templar believed in the rebellion they followed, were doing more than just following orders. There were men and women that I killed that were doing exactly what Thom Ranier’s soldiers were doing – _following fucking orders_. I killed men like Higgins, like Killeen, like Aillis, _like you_. People without the education or the options to choose another way. How many people died in Haven because _Corypheus wanted the anchor_? How many people died in Adamant because I couldn’t convince the wardens to stand down? How many people died in Redcliffe because I chose to go to Therinfall instead? How many bandits that fell before me were men and women driven out of their homes by the Venatori or the mages or the Templars or the civil war in Orlais – who had no other way to feed themselves, or their children? How many people died because they were too desperate to give up the fight, and didn’t ever see me coming? Yes, I killed demons and darkspawn and _endless fucking bears_. But I killed men and women too. There are _thousands_ of families deprived of mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons… because of _me_. Because of _my blades_. Tell me history is written by the victors, but don’t tell me it’s right.”

Cullen was left speechless.

“Anders was possessed by a spirit that was the embodiment of _justice_ for fuck’s sake. Don’t ask me to judge him.”

Cullen shook his head. “You can’t live, thinking that way. The guilt will drive you into the ground.”

“I know,” she said, still angry. “That’s what it’s doing to Anders.”

Cullen was quiet for a moment. “I can’t just… give him a _pass_ for what happened in Kirkwall. I can’t accept him like nothing’s changed.”

“That’s my point, Cullen. He _is_ changed. I sucked the spirit out of him and sent it back to the Fade. He is literally a completely different man than the one who blew up the Chantry. I am not asking you to accept him as he was. I’m asking you to give the person he is stumbling to discover a chance. Just that. A chance.”

“Somehow, it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“If you had seen the look on his face, when the rift closed and it was just Anders in the snow. If you had seen him when he was finally alone with his thoughts, his humanity, and he had no escape for what he had done... If you had seen his eyes then, I think it would be enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case anybody forgot that war is a bitch.


	25. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't help it. I want everyone to have a happy ending.

It took nearly eight hours for Alistair to wake up, although his slow but steady improvement left little room for worry. When he opened his eyes, it was for only a few moments, only long enough to find Moira, draw her against him, and drift back to sleep. Anders mixed a concoction of royal elfroot and deep mushroom, instructing Moira to spoon a few ounces into Alistair hourly, but otherwise not to worry, and only send for him if the king’s condition seemed to change rapidly.

The next dawn found Evelyn stumbling wearily into her guests’ rooms in her plaidweave pajamas, having spent most of her night up talking with Cullen. They hadn’t gotten around to making up – they were both too hurt and too tired – but she had slept pressed up against him like a promise that all would be well.

“Did he waken at all?” She asked Moira when the Queen came to the door. Evelyn was surprised there was none of the Fereldan staff present, but perhaps the King’s illness had driven them away. Or perhaps it was the early hour; the Queen likely wasn’t expecting company for some time yet.

“Yes. Briefly, last night. Anders says he should be well.”

“Maker, all this talk of Anders,” a disgruntled voice said weakly in the bedroom. Moira rushed back to the bed where Alistair was laid. “Tell me I don’t owe the man my life. That would be so inconvenient.”

“Good morning,” Moira said gently.

“Hello, my love,” he replied.

“Augh, get a room,” Evelyn grunted. Moira laughed as Alistair looked pointedly around at _the room_.

“Why was it so much worse for me?” he asked Evelyn.

“It was concentrated in your blood,” she said, sitting on the side of the bed opposite where Alistair lay and Moira was perched, folding one leg under her and leaving the other on the floor. “Moira was sort of saturated, with bits of it everywhere. Anders less so, less, I don’t know, _concentrated_. But you, sirrah – it was all in your blood, every drop of it. So when it all came out, you lost a great deal of volume. It was like bleeding out. You’re going to drink until you slosh for the next week or two.”

“Speaking of _slosh_ ,” he said wryly. “Am I allowed to get out of bed at all? I’ve got some water to get rid of.”

He allowed Moira and Evelyn to assist him out of bed, but the man was stronger than he really had any right to be. “Do you and Moira spar?” Evelyn asked, as she carefully turned her back to the piddling monarch.

Alistair merely grunted, but Moira answered with a laugh. “Every day we’re both home, if we can manage it. He taught me everything I know about using a shield.”

“I can tell,” Evelyn replied. “You hold it like a Templar.”

“See, Alistair has said that too. How can you tell?”

“Bull explained it to me. See-“

“Can this wait until I’m back in bed?” Alistair said, a bit grumpy.

“Does he lose a lot?”

“All the time.”

“Hello, nearly dead man standing! I need my pillows fluffed and something warm to drink.”

“Oh, Andraste’s boiling eyeballs, is he _one of those_?”

“Augh, yes,” Moira cried, as they settled the king back into his bed. “Luckily he’s never been sick, that I could see – something about being a Warden, the taint makes the blood resistant to fevers. But on the few occasions he’s lost a lot of blood, or broken a bone, or otherwise had to wait for healing? Whine, whine, whine.”

“I think I’m about done having company for the day,” Alistair said, and Evelyn laughed at the tone in his voice.

“Oh, that’s alright," Moira allowed. "I learned yesterday that Evelyn wants to lift my dress, so we’re perfectly fine entertaining ourselves.”

Evelyn expected more of a reaction than she got, but Alistair just snorted a laugh. “Look at her. She’s beet red. You’re not fooling anyone. Although I have to say, you should probably limit your dalliances now that you don’t have the taint to protect you.”

Moira returned his snort in kind, and waved for Evelyn to follow her into the other room, allowing Alistair to get back to sleep.

“He’ll either be asleep or bored in ten minutes,” she said, wholly unconcerned now that he was awake.

“Dalliances?” Evelyn asked before she could think better of it.

Moira rolled her eyes. “No. It’s a running joke. And it’s very hard to explain. First there was me and Lana, and then… an incident… in Denerim. And then I sort of forced him to sleep with someone he hated. You can figure that one out. But Alistair always turns things that make him uncomfortable into jokes. When it became clear we hadn’t conceived, even though we made sure there wasn’t anything, ahem, structurally wrong with me, he gave me permission to “sow my wild oats,” as he called it. He’s the only man I’ve only lain with, and he knows it. But it’s easier to laugh than it is to cry.”

“You have to start trying again,” Evelyn said, taking Moira’s hands. “I can leave. You can get to it now that he’s awake.”

_“Evelyn,_ ” Moira laughed, managing to sound scandalized. “Ferelden’s heir can’t be conceived in Orlais!”

“I won’t tell if you won’t, ” Evelyn replied with a wink.

“These pillows won’t fluff themselves,” a pitiable voice called from the other room, and the two women burst into laughter.

“You go _fluff his pillows_ ,” Evelyn said, setting off another round of laughter, “and I’ll make myself presentable and find out what else went to shit while I was sleeping.”

“Evelyn,” Moira said, stopping her. “We might be here awhile. I wasn’t planning on him… taking ill.”

“My home is yours,” Evelyn replied, trying to fill the phrase with all the sincerity she could. “As are my council and my resources. If you need any assistance… messages sent to Denerim, the use of ravens, anything. You need only ask.”

The Queen drew the Inquisitor in for a hug. “Aww, should I leave you two alone?” Alistair asked, leaning heavily on the doorframe.

“You!” his wife shrieked. “Bed! Go!”

Evelyn bid a hasty retreat. Alistair, she noticed, stood his ground. She didn’t want to see what happened when the two forces collided.

Cullen was coming down the stairs as she got her bearings, leaning on the doorway and laughing as she listened to the dull crashes and raised voices – mostly laughing – in the room behind her. She met his eyes with a smile on her face, and the expression cleared the wariness from his own.

“I worried, when I awoke and you were gone. It was clear you weren’t dressed.”

“Alistair just woke up,” she said, and allowed herself to show the relief she felt. “He’s going to be okay. I did it.” Another crash in the room behind her, this one followed by a long silence, and then voices pitched low. Evelyn blushed red again. “I don’t want to hear this,” she said and fled.

Cullen, laughing, followed her back up the stairs. She bolted through their door and didn’t stop until she was in the bathroom, running water over a heated rune for a bath.

“You know,” he said, and something about his voice made her shiver. “We could always just drown them out.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, remembering the fight the night before and seeing the memory in his face too – as well as the willingness to move past it. She turned the water off. “I like the way you think.”

 

*

 

Alistair stayed close to his rooms – under threat of death from Moira – for much of the next week.

“Magic can only do so much,” Anders told Evelyn over lunch one day, as had become their habit. “I can encourage his body to produce more blood, but at some point the best medicine is time. It’s roughly two weeks to replace blood volume, but substantially longer to replace _blood_. Given the king lost the darkspawn taint rather than actual blood, it could be much longer before his body finds its new equilibrium.”

“I like where your head is,” Evelyn said with a smile. “I’m hearing that we need to keep him here longer, until we’re sure its safe for him to venture home.”

Anders laughed, a sound he was slowly becoming more comfortable creating. “Yes, I suppose that is what I’m saying.”

Moira appeared, and Evelyn was secretly overjoyed that seeing the Hero of Ferelden was so commonplace as to be unremarkable for her now. “Scone,” Evelyn offered her friend.

Moira smiled, but shook her head no. “Good afternoon, Anders,” she said carefully. Moira was as conscientious as Evelyn when it came to rehabilitating the former warden.

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty. How fares your husband?”

“He is well, thank you.”

“We were actually just talking about him,” Evelyn said, gesturing for Moira to join them. “We think it may be another week at least before he has built back up the correct volume, but even longer before his body finds an equilibrium without the taint.”

Moira nodded her understanding, and refused the seat Evelyn proffered. “I hate to intrude, but I was wondering if I could borrow you, Evelyn. I have some news…”

“Of course,” Anders said, quickly rising. “Dorian and I have an appointment for the afternoon, and its always more fun if I can arrive before Bull shows up to glare at me.”

Evelyn waved a farewell as the mage disappeared into the hall and then stood to be led away by Moira.

Surprisingly, the Queen led the Inquisitor to the council chamber, and locked the door behind them.

“Alright,” Evelyn said slowly, looking around to be sure the room was empty. “Now you’re scaring me.”

“You are the absolute only person I can talk to about this,” Moira said, collapsing into a chair.

Evelyn detoured briefly to the sideboard and retrieved two heavy goblets and a decanter of wine – the council chamber was now far distant from the spartan war room of old – before sliding into the chair across from Moira. They each shifted their weight to the right side of their chair and tucked their feet into the left-hand side of their friends’ seat, creating a bridge with their legs. The sat parallel to the table, goblets and decanter easily at hand. It was an arrangement made possible by a week’s worth of quiet evenings spent carefully cultivating a friendship.

“What’s happened?”

Moira sighed. “Everything. Just… everything. I don’t know where to start.”

“Pick something and we’ll meander through. I’m currently at a lull with crises, so you have my undivided attention."

Moira laughed lightly. “You are a treasure.”

Evelyn inclined her head, but otherwise remained silent, waiting for Moira to find her words.

“I guess I could summarize? I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself, things with Alistair are too perfect, and I slept with Leliana.”

Evelyn was never so proud of keeping a straight face.

“Alright,” she said again, even slower this time. “Lets start with the important part. What does your husband think of you sleeping with Lana?”

“Well,” Moira hid her face briefly in her goblet, buying time more than tasting the wine. “He was there, so I had pretty explicit permission.”

Evelyn felt a knot loosen in her chest. “Well, then. No worries there.”

_“What.”_  Moira set the goblet down with a thud. “That’s it? Open and shut case?”

Evelyn worked hard not to laugh, and kept an air of objectivity. “Yes?”

Moira shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is absolutely that simple. May I be blunt?”

“You have never asked that before. Aren’t you normally blunt?”

Evelyn flattened her mouth into a thin line. “Funny. First, you obviously don’t have to worry about your marriage. As long as you and Alistair remain strong and communicative, what happens in your marriage bed (or next to it, I suppose) can remain between you two. You say things are _too perfect_  so I doubt you’re worried about reprisals.”

Moira shook her head, a ghost of a smile twitching one corner of her mouth.

“Piecing together stories I’ve heard, I have come to the conclusion your original _meeting_ with Isabela in Denerim involved Alistair and Leliana. Am I wrong?”

Moira’s smile twitched into view again, stronger this time, and accompanied by a subtle blush. She shook her head, _no_.

“So it's not like this sort of thing hasn't happened before; again, no worries for your marriage. Second point: Leliana can’t get you pregnant. I’ve seen the woman naked, I would know. As paramours go, she is an ideal choice in that regard.”

The smile stayed in place this time. Moira nodded, but still stayed silent.

“Third, Leliana told me the story of the night you and her decided to end your relationship. She said your camp was attacked by darkspawn, and you realized you would never find peace. You and I have talked about that before. We didn’t speak of it in the context of Lana, but still. And now, all of a sudden, you have escaped the Calling, drastically improved your lifespan (theoretically at least, knock on wood), and breathed new life into your marriage. You have a new source of hope. You have escaped a massive chunk of your responsibilities now that you’ve stepped down as Warden Commander, and you probably have no idea exactly what your life is going to be like, moving forward. Actually, that probably sums up your first two complaints. All of that coupled with _Leliana is right here and she still loves me_   probably made you two falling into bed together less a matter of _if_ and more a matter of _when_.”

Moira was shaking her head. “Am I that easy to read?”

Evelyn smiled gently. “No. I’m just a very knowledgeable observer. When Corypheus died, and the anchor disappeared… I sat in my room that night with Cullen and decided I had to write to Alistair and gloat. All of a sudden, my plate seemed cleared of responsibilities. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like if, as soon as the war was over, I had to take the helm of a country. Add to that the doom hanging over your heads from the Calling. That feeling – that I was so free, so blessed – is what started all of this. That, and my being a relentless wiseass. You’re finally getting that now… Sure, you’ve got a country to run. I’m not saying you have _no_ responsibilities, I’m just saying you’ve suddenly been given your life back. Martyrdom being removed as an option is _fucking incredible_ , and that’s going to take awhile to wrap your head around.”

“I saved the world ten fucking years before you. How are you giving _me_ advice?”

“Herald of Holy Andraste, remember? Your peace is my foremost concern, my child.”

Moira rolled her eyes and started laughing helplessly. “I deserve that, I really do.”

“Anything else you need to unburden your conscience with, child?”

Moira grabbed Evelyn’s feet from her chair and tickled the religious icon until she was in tears before she deigned to answer. “No, I think we’re good here.”

Evelyn gathered her wits about her before pulling herself back into the chair and settling her feet against Moira again in an intentional show of trust. “Should I assume that no one else is to know about your renewed relations with my Intelligencer?”

“You should. Although I’m going to forget to mention to her that I told you. So if you should need material to harass her with later, drop me a line and warn me first.”

“Fair enough. Should I also assume that these are indeed renewed relations, and not merely a dalliance?”

Moira’s smile slipped. “We haven’t discussed it, but it definitely feels that way.”

Evelyn nodded once. “I can see to it that she finds herself in Denerim with some degree of regularity, if that is the case.”

Moira grinned at her. “You are my absolute favorite.”

“I won’t tell Alistair _or_   Leliana you said that.”

“I would appreciate it.”


	26. Rediscovering Equilibrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a long enough timeline, the only constant is change.

Dorian didn’t seem to breathe easy for nearly three weeks, until the contingent from Minrathous rolled into Skyhold.

“Maker preserve me, I don’t want the man _dead_ ,” he told Evelyn in the war room that morning, where they had gotten into the habit of taking their tea, now that the mornings were getting too cold for the garden. “But that doesn’t mean I want him in my home, either.”

“I love that you think of this as your home now,” she said with a happy smile.

“What? Of course I do. You built me a tower to run, let me buy whatever I want for the library, and I can recruit whatever mages I see fit? My darling girl, you’re never going to get rid of me now.”

Evelyn snuggled into her chair, thankful for the hundredth time that she let Josephine redecorate the council chamber. “That was precisely my goal.”

“Anders has received his pardon from Val Royeaux, I don’t know if Leliana told you.”

“No,” Evelyn breathed. “Cassandra went along with it?”

“I don’t imagine _Cassandra_ was even remotely pleased to discover the mage responsible for the Chantry explosion had escaped Kirkwall, no. But _Divine Victoria_ had to bow to reason and legal precedent. Since an official member of the chantry, as well as the current leader of the Templars _and_ three separate other witnesses have confirmed that a spirit was exorcised from our favorite little abomination, he was not responsible for his actions in Kirkwall. However, there was an addendum that I’m sure you’ll see before too long, since it was addressed to you.”

“How have I _not_ seen it, if it was addressed to me?”

Dorian shrugged gracefully. “It seems you are to be held personally responsible for Anders moving forward.”

Evelyn snorted a laugh. “I’m sure she didn’t say it like _that_ , if it was left out of the official documentation.”

“Yes, which is likely why it’s being passed around before you get your hands on it and make it disappear.”

“Ooh, that good, is it? Maybe I’ll frame it and put it on my wall: the first time I made the Divine so angry she spit nails.”

“Also, she’s not coming to my little soiree.”

“Oh, Dorian, I’m sorry. I was hoping she would come.”

“And steal my thunder?”

“Oh, love, no one can steal _your_ thunder. Surely you know that.”

“Yes, but your willingness to admit it is what won my heart.”

They both laughed then, and the conversation lulled as Evelyn sipped her tea.

“I guess Moira and Alistair are leaving for Denerim two mornings after your fete. They’ve been gone for over a month now, they’ve stretched the _state visit_ story about as far as it will go. The rumors that one of them is missing – again – will die down if they cross country with enough fanfare. Cullen is sending a matching honor guard back with them to Denerim.”

“Which will serve to escort him home, as well?”

“Oh, you heard that, too, did you? Yes, he has to attend the Landsmeet. And I successfully escaped it, seeing as how he has to be recognized as a new Arl before the _arlessa_ matters much.”

“And how are you liking your rise to DogLand nobility?”

“I still won’t drink the ale,” she said.

 

*

 

She had hoped they would come back, to celebrate Dorian, to remember their own contributions to the Inquisition. She was disappointed: her inner circle was apparently irrevocably broken. Sera couldn’t stand the thought of so much nobility in one place. Vivienne wasn’t exactly invited, which Cassandra – _Divine Victoria,_ rather – handled by sending her as an envoy to Nevarra to treat with some issue with one or the other of the Penteghasts, timing the assignment to be accepted before the invitation to Skyhold was delivered.

Varric flatly refused when he found out Anders had joined the Inquisition, although his correspondence with Evelyn of late was showing some willingness to move on. Hawke had written her refusal as well, noting she was _sorry she didn’t kill him when she had the chance_ , but also acknowledging that freeing him of both the darkspawn taint and the spirit of Justice had probably rendered the man unrecognizable from the Anders she’d known. Hawke’s refusal was more in line with not wanting to steal Dorian’s thunder, and that she had finally bowed under the pressure to take on the mantle of Viscount.

The most surprising refusal was from an unknown address in the Free Marches, in the steady hand of one Thom Ranier. Varric had managed to get word to him of the party in Dorian’s honor, and the new Warden had written to offer congratulations to his former colleague. The man once known as Blackwall confided that the Wardens were under orders to avoid Skyhold at all costs, and that further correspondence would be unfortunately impossible.

In the end, it was only Bull and his Chargers who stood to be honored as valued members of the Inquisition, and the big qunari took the role of draping a chasuble across Dorian’s shoulders to signify his rank within the Inquisition and, amusingly, the Chantry.

Evelyn took tea with Magister Pavus, and Josephine utterly charmed Dorian’s mother. The most surprising turn of events came when the Iron Bull knocked on the council room door while Evelyn, Dorian, Dorian’s mother and father, Cullen, and the King and Queen of Ferelden were sharing the noon meal, the day after the tremendously successful ball.

“Bull,” Evelyn greeted him, rising from her chair. “Do please come in.”

He had no eyes for her. “Would you do me the honor of introducing me to your parents, Dorian?”

As soon as it seemed the four of them were settled into diplomatic conversation, the Inquisitor, the Commander, the King and the Queen politely found somewhere else to be.

“Reeeeally?” Alistair asked, as they made their way up the stairs in the tower they had shared for nearly 5 weeks. “Dorian and the qunari? I always pictured Dorian as a top.”

“ _Alistair_ ,” Moira said, almost managing to sound scandalized, as she slapped her husband in the shoulder.

“That’s because, “ Evelyn replied easily, “you only ever saw him behind _me_.”

“Honestly,” Moira added, “why were you picturing Dorian in such a way? This is a side of you I never imagined.”

“Oh, Andraste’s flaming sword, _will you stop_ ,” Cullen’s slightly strangled voice pled from behind them.

“While I understand the need,” Evelyn said as they paused by the door to the royal guest chambers, “I am very sorry to have to see you go tomorrow. And you’re taking my husband with you!”

“I promise we will return him sooner than we returned you,” Alistair said lightly. “And, besides, he has to pick a puppy.”

“Maker preserve me, you’re sending him home with a dog? I will never get the smell out.”

 

*

 

The news from Minrathous came as they gathered at the front gates to see off the Fereldan nobility, Cullen now glumly included in that number. One of Leliana’s scouts clattered across the causeway at a dead run, his horse lathered.

Leliana was there to meet him, and directed him to hand off his missive and immediately see to his mount, before Dennett had his head.

She scanned it before handing it to Evelyn, face pale.

“Your Majesties, I must bid you wait. I have news,” Evelyn called out, trying to keep the formal expression she had been practicing for occasions such as these.

“Yes, Inquisitor?” Moira asked smoothly.

“Minrathous is under blockade from the Qun.”

There were gasps in the courtyard, and Dorian’s mother fainted dead away. It said a lot about how much time they had spent with Bull, that Magister Pavus didn’t bat an eye when the qunari caught the collapsing Tevinter and carried her back into the keep.

“Dorian, did you…” his father had to stop and attempt to start again twice before Dorian cut him off.

“Did I know? No. If I _had_ known, would I have done anything under my power to get you out? Yes.”

They stood looking at each other for a long time before the elder Pavus suddenly embraced the younger. The rest of the crowd respectfully turned away.

“Any particulars we should know?” Alistair drawled.

“Nothing beyond the basics as yet. I will try to keep you informed as you make your way across country. I must bid you make haste, and return my Commander to me.”

And suddenly Cole was there, standing in front of the Queen. He said something to her – three sentences, maybe four, and her face lit up like the sunrise. She leaned forward and said something unintelligible to him, and then gently kissed the boy on the forehead.

But then it was time for one extended guest to leave and to make room for another. Evelyn had to juggle having a Tevinter magister in Skyhold while the war between Tevinter and the Qun escalated. Cullen was leaving to be officially made an Arl, and claim a little corner of Ferelden they might one day call their own, and in the meantime Evelyn had agreed to take over the bulk of his duties, although mostly that meant sitting in his office and approving whatever Killeen and Aillis suggested.

She had a cure for the darkspawn taint that only she could perform, and no way to safely inform the Wardens it was even possible. She and Dagna were now studying the lyrium she had converted, trying to find a way to convert it _back_ or at least destroy it in such a way they could be sure it would never regrow. And then there was practice with the anchor; as much as she preferred Dorian’s help, she had to learn to summon the energy of the Fade at will, without assistance. She felt she owed it to Solas, wherever he was.

Leliana was working to scout out all the rifts Evelyn had closed during the War of the Breach, as well as still building the intelligence forces for both the Inquisition and the new Divine, reaching out to contacts in the nations of northern Thedas. Josephine was doing similar work, having taken over all of Evelyn’s correspondence but for that clearly marked personal, and sometimes that as well.

As the Fereldans rode out of Skyhold, Cole ran over to Evelyn. “She said I could tell you. She said she knows I’m not supposed to say, but that she needed me to tell you what I heard.”

“What did you hear, Cole?” The Inquisitor dutifully prompted, smiling as she remembered the look on Moira’s face.

“Waiting,” he said, his face confused. “Unformed, floating, at peace. Waiting. Warm and content and growing, always growing. Growing and waiting.”

She frowned at him. “And Moira wanted you to tell me that?”

Cole nodded. “I heard it from her, but it wasn’t her. Not her voice, not her thoughts. Not even thoughts, not really. Just… waiting. And when she told me to tell you, she was thinking, ‘can never tell him it happened in Orlais.’ Although I don’t know the him.”

Evelyn got it, then, remembering the morning Alistair had woken up, free of the taint, free of the wardens.

“Cole, thank you so much for telling me. Can you do me a favor?”

He nodded.

“I want you to run and catch up to Moira, to the Queen, and tell her you told me. And I want you to tell her I sent you with two words.”

“Two words. What two words?”

“Tell her I said, ‘me too,’ and then come right back.”

He vanished, and she smiled. She wouldn’t tell Cullen, not until he came home; otherwise he wouldn’t leave. Likely, the man would never leave Skyhold again without the direct order of his Inquisitor or his King. Not until they managed to build that summer home in his new Arling, at least.

Cole suddenly reappeared, and he was beaming. “I understand. I understand now, I heard it from you too, from you but not you, the waiting. When will I hear a new voice?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. You’ll have to tell me when you hear it. What did Moira say, Cole?”

“She laughed. She said, ‘its perfect,’ and then laughed at their confusion. She was thinking she wouldn’t tell them, thinking it was too much fun to keep the secret, for now at least.”

Evelyn laughed, and Cole cocked his head, listening to the voice that wasn’t a voice, was just a presence, waiting and growing.

Her work wasn’t ended. It would likely never be ended. She suspected she would go to her grave with a desk full of business, even if she lived to see her grandchildren grow. She resisted the urge to lay a hand over her abdomen, knowing it was still too early to be so happy, so full of plans. Too much could happen. But the thief Cadash trained had learned to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming along on this ride with me. I don't currently plan to continue the storyline as it is, but I think there's a couple of one-shots that can be added to the side. They will be added to the series eventually, once my Muse comes back.


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